


SASO BR - afterhours

by stephanericher



Series: SASO 17 [16]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/F, F/M, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Other, Selfcest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 74
Words: 31,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: stuff from saso, br3-7, featured on saso afterhours (sex/violence/horror/etc), knb relatedeach chapter has its own warnings as notes





	1. aokuro, bloodplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blood/cutting (knives), sexual content
> 
> br3, for winnie

Tetsu’s got some strange ideas, but Daiki trusts him completely. He never hasn’t, not since the first time he’d received one of Tetsu’s passes, not even when he couldn’t anymore. Trust was never the issue between them, only between Daiki and himself. It’s not an issue now, as he waits, as Tetsu moves the knife forward, flat above Daiki’s abs. Daiki can feel the cold of the metal, the air moving as it cuts through nothing. Tetsu hums, almost metallic himself, Daiki thinks.  
  
He adjusts his hand, lacing his fingers more comfortably through Tetsu’s, and Tetsu’s lips curve into a slight smile.  
  
“I’m ready,” says Daiki.  
  
Tetsu looks at him, silently telling him to be patient, and he’s the one with the knife. He always is; he’s the one with this kind of control, hand so steady in the quiet of Daiki’s bedroom. He turns the knife and presses it to Daiki’s skin, right above his hipbone. The pressure’s light, but the knife is sharp; Daiki’s skin tears--he sees his flesh give before he feels it, sharp but expected and small, just the first bit, not enough for him to make a sound of pleasure yet. His blood spills red against the silver knife, against his skin; Tetsu raises the knife and Daiki sees the straight line, narrow and meticulous like Tetsu, the blood smearing messy and blurring it.  
  
“Come on, Tetsu.”  
  
This time, he doesn’t wait; another slit lower on Daiki’s hip joins the first, then another, and that time the sharpness is building into a good throb; the look of focus on Tetsu’s face, the way he rubs at Daiki’s blood and it stains his fingers--God, that’s hot.  
  
“Fuck,” Daiki says, exhaling; he squeezes Tetsu’s hand again.  
  
Tetsu smiles; he leans in and kisses Daiki, dropping his hand in favor of palming his cock, small fingers deft and sure. Daiki groans into his mouth, eyes closed and tongue lolling when Tetsu adds a fourth cut. They’re too far apart to be scratch marks from a cat (even a large one), too narrow to be scrapes from goofing off playing soccer on fake turf; they’ll scab and if Daiki worries them enough they’ll scar pale and shiny against his skin, the tiny dots on the inside of his right wrist, almost-slash on his left thigh, matching crosses on his sides, marks from Tetsu that won’t fade like lipstick and hickeys and the memory of a feeling, always visible if you look close enough.


	2. kurohana,hatesex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hate sex, rough sex, scratching/bruising/etc
> 
> br3

Kuroko’s nails scratch Hanamiya in spiderwebs, and that’s a little poetic and a lot intentional but that’s just the beginning. He doesn’t like Hanamiya; Hanamiya doesn’t like him; that’s always clear and prominent, never something they forget. This isn’t some cooked-up cliche where sex leads to love; they are not friends with benefits. They are not friends.   
  
Hanamiya bruises him, too, but Kuroko’s bruises are more sympathetic; they lead the teammates who see (so, Izuki, really) to ask him what had happened; they’re easy to disguise with a simple lie. He fell; he tripped; someone hadn’t seen him and knocked into him. It’s all believable, smooth-flowing, the way Hanamiya wishes his own shitty layers of lies were. But really, they’re piled on like a child’s papier-mache craft, unwieldy and stuck with glue, drying in a hideous texture that still looks as if it’s been coated in slime.  
  
Kuroko doesn’t care what Hanamiya tells people about the marks on him, but he’s the kind of person people assume would have rough sex (and it’s nice to be proven right on how much of a disgusting cliche he is; Kuroko bites harder into his shoulder for that sometimes; once he draws blood and Hanamiya slaps him across the face for that, leaving a raised handprint for a night that quickly fades except when the memory jolts him awake in class, going straight to Kuroko’s dick, which in turn makes him think about coming on Hanamiya’s face, painting his lips in white, stinging his eye). Hanamiya’s the kind of person people assume would fight in dark alleys, and while Kuroko doesn’t know if that’s true he doesn’t really care.  
  
Hanamiya’s only a means to an end, after all; he’s the type of person who loves to use people but can’t stand to be used himself, and yet he still stays, struggling like a bird caught in a six-pack ring, the means to cut himself out in one hand, smart enough to realize but mean enough to stay out of spite, spitting at Kuroko because he thinks he’ll make him flinch.   
  
They’ll squeeze each other’s cocks so hard it hurts, bite and scratch and tear and bruise, but Kuroko’s winning. And he’d learned from the best about stepping on throats and never letting up (and sometimes he whispers that in Hanamiya’s ear, because if there’s one thing Hanamiya hates more than not being in control it’s not being the best, and this is both, two blows in one small, fell swoop, and it doesn’t even bruise Kuroko’s knuckles).


	3. momoao, pegging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit sexual content, strapons/pegging/anal
> 
> br3, for winnie

They'd picked the strap-on out together online; the process took longer than it had to but that was because just discussing it had turned both of them on. Satsuki had had Daiki's cock in her hand, supposedly re-measuring it against the size they wanted for this (a little bigger, Daiki had admitted wanting, which from him meant a few centimeters longer and a little thicker), and they'd stared at the screen thinking about how it would look hanging between Satsuki's thighs (Satsuki had given Daiki control of the laptop then and reached her other hand around to finger him because it's the next best thing she has to seeing her cock--fake, but still--buried inside of him). He'd pushed the laptop to the side a few seconds later and they'd fingered each other until they both came and the laptop was asleep and they still hadn't made a decision.  
  
This, though, is even better than that already. The cock they'd picked out is perfect, long and black and it fits on Satsuki so right. She hefts it in her hand, pantomiming jerking herself off. Daiki's practically drooling.  
  
"You like what you see?" Satsuki says.  
  
Daiki nods, spreading his legs already and Satsuki's more than a little excited herself. She's thought about it long enough but the fantasy of it still gets her off when she's using a regular dildo on Daiki or when he's fucking her, the idea of being in that position, having him under her to do as she pleases.  
  
"Satsuki," Daiki whines.  
  
Satsuki huffs. "Don't rush it."  
  
Still, if she drags it out too long they'll never get anywhere; she uncaps the bottle of lube and pours it on her fingers, letting it drip onto the bedspread. She's getting wet already: she rubs her fingers against each other and watches Daiki track the movement with his eyes.  
  
Fuck, he's tight around two fingers, a little bit tense; she waits a little longer to add a third.  
  
"Breathe, Dai-chan."  
  
"I know," he says, but he's still staring at her cock and it makes her feel pretty powerful.  
When she finally slides in he gasps at the sensation; it's thicker than he's used to but he's the one pushing her balls-deep, trying to get her farther up than she can go (maybe she should have gotten a bigger one; next time, she thinks).  
  
"Oh," Daiki croaks, rocking his hips.  
  
That's her cue. It's a little tricky at first, trying to move inside him and work herself, too, a different set of muscles than pushing a toy in with her fingers, but Daiki's there to meet her, almost like he's too eager, like the way he fucks himself on her fingers when she's feeling a little lazy (and she very nearly gets off on just watching him those times; it's even hotter now). And then, she moves, and Daiki moves, and the dildo moves against her clit and--fuck, that's just right. Daiki's finally stopped trying to go faster, looking up at her almost wonderstruck from the bed; she pushes his knees even farther apart around her. He’s gasping; with nearly every breath comes a little whine; his cock is swollen and flushed against his belly and she’s never seen him this undone before.


	4. kurohana, cannibalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graphic depictions of cannibalism/gore
> 
> br3

Hanamiya never saw it coming, but that’s always how it is with Kuroko. He prefers to (a polite way of seeing that he must) work that way, alone, unseen, out of nowhere, the unusual suspect, the unturned stone. It’s how he keeps getting to do this year after year, culling the ones unfit to remain. Hanamiya’s heart has been poisoned with hatred; it was easy to choose him after Kuroko had chosen Akashi and Midorima. The way he sneers and makes a mockery of others is deplorable; the people like him act as poison, spreading their diseases throughout society.  
  
And just because Kuroko had to destroy him didn’t mean he couldn’t teach Hanamiya a lesson or two or five first. He’d cut off his legs, difficult because of the thrashing, fed them to Hanamiya, that long tongue he loved to stick out licking his own blood (he’d pretended to be game at first but had been sickened, and so a man like him really does have limits). There had been sex, too; Kuroko hadn’t quite trusted Hanamiya’s mouth on his cock at any point but definitely not that one, but Hanamiya could jerk him off; he could ride Hanamiya and eat him out until he cried, until his stupid voice got too much and Kuroko had cut off his tongue.   
  
He’d run out of leg meat then, and it was then he’d faced the dilemma, kill him then or leave him a little longer. But really, Hanamiya had been so incapable of learning well; he’d always seemed to forget the lessons just as soon as Kuroko had taught him. There is no hope for a sinner’s redemption if he refuses to try, and Kuroko had given him adequate chances, so he had killed Hanamiya then.  
  
Consuming the ills of society is taxing; Kuroko eats until he feels like gagging sometimes, but it’s the only way. This is beneficial; this is the way nature intended; this is destiny. This is his knife picking the meat from Hanamiya’s ribcage; this is the bones dissolving in his basement; this is the fat of his cheeks tender under Kuroko’s teeth, the blight disappearing into Kuroko’s stomach. Tomorrow there will be another one to round up, another one wounded and wounding and in need of Kuroko’s assistance. He does not ask for recognition; he does not want it in the first place. The accomplishment is its own reward.


	5. kikasa, blowjob

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit sexual content (oral)
> 
> br3, for dw user mondegreened

They’ve been ending up in Kasamatsu’s dorm room less and less, Kise’s ramped-up physical therapy and Kasamatsu’s constant cram school demands pulling them apart. It’s not that they don’t want to; it’s that they have no time, and the time they do get seems stolen, quick kisses in a dark corner that Kise maybe shouldn’t even be taking, phone calls from across the dorm building that cut into their scant sleep time.   
  
And that makes it all the more surprising when Kasamatsu stops by on his free period Friday afternoon to find Kise lounging on his bed.  
  
“Who let you in?”  
  
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Kise says, already pouting.  
  
“Not if you’re skipping class,” says Kasamatsu.  
  
It’s a shitty lie; he’s not Kise’s captain anymore and despite wanting him to just fucking try in school (he’s a smart kid; even if he doesn’t have the patience or aptitude for book learning he should at least be doing better than he is and he could if he ever touched a textbook) he also, selfishly, wants to give them both a break from the pressures around them; he wants to eat up Kise’s precious time.  
  
“How are you feeling, Senpai?” Kise asks, lips still pouted, like he wants to know but he’s getting at something.  
  
“Tired,” says Kasamatsu.  
  
“I want to make you feel good, Senpai,” says Kise and, oh.  
  
Kasamatsu’s whole face is heating up; Kise rises to his feet and steps forward, leaning down to kiss Kasamatsu’s mouth.  
  
“I have class after—”  
  
“It won’t take long,” says Kise. “Please, sit down.”  
  
And (God help him) Kasamatsu obeys.  
  
“You’re going to feel so good, Senpai, so good,” Kise coos, and Kasamatsu’s already spreading his legs and all of the retorts in his mouth are dissipating like fog hit by the sun.  
  
Kise unzips Kasamatsu’s fly, tugging his uniform pants down on his thighs, fingers ghosting over the top of Kasamatsu’s underwear, millimeters away from his cock. He smiles up at Kasamatsu, as if to say just because it won’t take long doesn’t mean there’s no teasing or foreplay, but they haven’t done anything in weeks and Kasamatsu hasn’t been feeling all that horny lately but it’s rushed in pretty quickly with this prospect and all he kind of wants right now is Kise’s mouth on his cock. He leans back on one hand, tangling the other in Kise’s hair, pushing at Kise’s head. Kise’s teeth scrape against the fabric of Kasamatsu’s boxer briefs and fuck, these need to be off right now. He pulls down the waistband with his thumb, trying to wiggle out of them.  
  
“You’re the one always telling me to be patient, Senpai,” says Kise.  
  
“Why do I need to be patient now?” says Kasamatsu. “Come on, suck me off.”  
  
(He’s no good at dirty talk, he knows; there’s no need to cringe at the memory of attempted phone sex right now.) Kise sighs, as if this is some great ordeal, and yanks Kasamatsu’s underwear down to his knees.  
  
Kasamatsu’s not even half-hard, but it feels pretty goddamn good to have Kise’s warm mouth around him, the slick of Kise’s saliva against his cock, Kise’s tongue flicking against the shaft, and then Kise takes him in _deep_ (he has been blessed with no gag reflex) and, oh. He hollows his cheeks; his lips are moist and puffed around Kasamatsu; his mouth looks so full in a way that wrenches Kasamatsu’s stomach from the back as Kise rolls his tongue, sucks harder. Kasamatsu doesn’t think to be embarrassed when he comes a few minutes later, much quicker than usual, because fuck. He leans back on the bed, trying to catch his breath, and Kise pops up next to him.  
  
“What about you?” Kasamatsu says (and, can they, is there time).  
  
“I’ll just jerk off on your bed,” Kise says lightly.   
  
Fuck that’s dirty, saying that when Kasamatsu’s cock is still softening, when his heart is still pounding, when Kise kisses him with a come-stained mouth.


	6. aocest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> selfcest, explicit sexual content, implied underage

Aomine doesn’t really remember when his other self starts showing up. Maybe it should stick out in his memory, the first of a burned row of matchsticks, but it’s like he’s always been there. He’s always been on the other side of the court, pushing Aomine to do better, pushing him to play harder; he’s always been there, silent, on the other side, holding up half the crazy shit Aomine loves to try and pull just to see if he can. Some of it’s maybe his idea, but maybe Aomine can take credit since the other him is still him, after all.  
  
He seems distant and unaffected, the warning before the storm like some kind of ancient Roman bird warning, flying over the still city telling Aomine what’s about to happen. The thing is, Aomine doesn’t really want to listen, so he doesn’t; he looks outward at Tetsu and Satsuki and all of the others, turns away from himself. It’s kind of funny that it’s his own body, his own capability, that ends up betraying him. He wants to laugh in his own face, so he does; his other self takes it unflinchingly.   
  
Aomine digs his fingers into that skin, the even tone mixing with his own in the dark; he bites down on another shoulder and his own feels the burn of teeth against flesh. It’s a fight to see who can go longer, who can make the other give in first; neither of them knows what the hell they’re doing, bruises and bites and kicks because how do they both fit in this tiny bed? How does even one of him fit here? It’s weird seeing your own O-face on someone else, when you’re the one jerking him off, getting faster just the way you know you like your hand on your own cock, your come (his come?) spurting out onto both of your stomachs, the little moans and sighs that he makes so different from him when they’re not vibrating through your own jawbone before reaching your ears.   
  
The only one who can beat him is him; the only one who can dunk on him and block his shots is him. The only one who can kiss him, tender and abrupt and sweet, the only one who can give him a messy blow job kneeling between his thighs is him. The only one who can understand him is him, the other self staring at him from a few centimeters away, looking into his eyes, unblinking. It’s not such a bad deal.


	7. kisehimu, how you see me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, tatsuya's self-image

This is just sex. That’s all it is to Ryouta, sex with another pretty boy, a disposable face and body with easy access through basketball. It’s all it’s ever going to be. It’s not that he’s a bad lay; it’s not like Tatsuya went into this wanting to be Ryouta’s boyfriend (it’s not like that’s what he wants right now, or even close to it). Casual sex is fine; it’s all the other stuff, irrelevant to sex and romance but pertinent to Tatsuya, this fight he cannot win, the fists he balls up and pounds against the walls until they’re black and blue and bleeding, staining the beige mortar.  
  
Sex has nothing to do with making Ryouta recognize him as a basketball player. It might be counterproductive in the long run, actually, drawing Ryouta into seeing him another way, cementing him into the category of pretty faces who can do a few tricks. It’s not that Ryouta doesn’t respect him at all; he will face him on the court. He’ll give it something; he might even give it his all (Tatsuya digs his hands into Ryouta’s hips when he doesn’t, just the way Ryouta likes, thumbs scuffing the outline of the bone and muscle, some kind of fucked-up submissive penance for not being worthy enough for Ryouta to face seriously). But there’s still a line, the line that Tatsuya tries not to see, the line he can’t cross that Ryouta reserves for the people like him, the best and most talented, people like Taiga.  
  
Sex won’t push him over the line; making Ryouta see him as a man, as an object, won’t have any bearing. He could be Ryouta’s boyfriend, Ryouta’s friend, Ryouta’s closest companion. Ryouta will see his basketball as beneath him (and yet, Tatsuya can’t stop trying, won’t stop trying; the moment he stops trying is the moment he fails; he won’t admit it even though the weight of failure drags him down).  
  
This is just sex. It’s all it will ever be, probably, but it’s a damn good consolation prize, the things Ryouta does with his mouth and hands, the weight of his cock in Tatsuya’s hand, the look on his face when he comes like his guard’s finally down, like he’s a breaking wave against Tatsuya’s rocks instead of the other way around (that Tatsuya’s the one who’s undone him, who leaves him grasping and gasping for something), the nicest kind of temporary fantasy.


	8. imahana, headmaster ritual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, bullying/harassment, underage
> 
> br3, for dw user moetushie

They all get kicked around here, but that can’t happen to Hanamiya. His mother went here; both of his grandparents did—something that easily gets flicked away like the end of a cigarette by an upperclassman on the first day. All four of his grandparents, both of his parents, two older siblings and a younger one in Hanamiya’s year (who somehow seems to escape the bloody lips and soiled clothes that plague the rest of the first year students; Hanamiya fantasizes through classes about getting revenge on that one, hiding his pants after phys ed or having Yamazaki tie his shoelaces together). He snaps his fingers and tells Hanamiya to iron his tie; Hanamiya leaves it over the ironing board.  
  
Five of them corner him to spank him, ripping his new school pants by the seat and leaving him to explain to the teachers and the disciplinary committee exactly what had happened. Hanamiya’s no idiot; he knows when not to tell; he knows these fucking coward teachers are going to look the other way, that these disciplinarian students had it happen to them in their year and let the cycle continue. Hanamiya sits on his ass where it hurts and pretends it doesn’t; he won’t let them win. He watches the older boys circle like vultures above him and ignores them.  
  
That works better than pretending to be a goody-two-shoes; there are easier targets if Hanamiya plays a little dirty, not so dirty that they need to keep him in line but enough that he’s too much trouble. They’d rather play with squirmy little mice, half-picked roadkill, fight with someone who has the same open talons as they do.   
  
Imayoshi’s different, or he pretends to be. He’s a creepy piece of shit, always watching Hanamiya out of the corner of those closed eyes, making sure Hanamiya knows he’s looking. Hanamiya never shudders; that’s probably what that asshole wants him to do. He holds his head high, grabs his bag, and sweeps out of sight of the seniors who always want to slap his ass.  
  
He meets Imayoshi in the locker room, as if Imayoshi’s been waiting, after Hanamiya’s mouth’s been made bloody again, his pants are pulled down to his knees and his knuckles are scraped. Imayoshi looks him up and down but makes no sort of disparaging remark. He gets on his knees and looks up, and Hanamiya can almost see whites and irises between the lashes and lids.   
  
“They’ve been mean to ya. I reckon you wouldn’t mind if I sucked you off?”  
  
(When he puts it like that, maybe Hanamiya doesn’t mind how fucking creepy he is, just for now.)


	9. akamidotaka, birthday sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit sexual content
> 
> br3

“It’s your birthday, Shintarou,” says Akashi.  
  
“I know,” says Midorima, lips suddenly dry.  
  
Cancer is only in seventh place today, but considering it’s the seventh month and the seventh day, the luck of that number—perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. It’s not when both Akashi and Takao are circling Midorima like sharks, like they’ve planned something out for him that’s going to make him feel good (and they’re always right when they have this kind of feeling; he’s used to losing to them but this kind of thing tends to feel almost like a win).  
  
“Are you ready?” says Takao.  
  
His eyes are glinting under the light and Midorima almost shudders. “Yes.”  
  
“Good,” they say in unison, as if practiced, perhaps agreed upon beforehand but more than likely decided in the last few minutes, a suggestion like a psychic connection, the spark between the two of them that makes Midorima feel warm inside when he sees it (the two of them, such a good match, why had he not seen it in favor of crushing on them both all that time, when the three of them could have been together like this).  
  
“Okay, birthday boy,” says Takao, and his hands are already working on Midorima’s fly.  
  
Akashi gets down into a crouch, bobbing up and down, and those pants are so tight Midorima can see the outline of his ass, and when he looks up, eyes wide through his bangs—oh. Takao’s fingers brush over Midorima’s cock through the front of his briefs, quick; Midorima really does shudder then.   
  
“Easy, Shin-chan,” Takao says, easing down Midorima’s pants, to his knees, and then his briefs.  
  
Midorima’s cock is already trending upwards; he’s long since stopped feeling ashamed of how easy they make him.  
  
Akashi’s the first one who takes Midorima in his mouth, full with the sucking, popping, lewd sound of his lips and tongue, deliberate against Midorima’s skin. Midorima moans; Takao kisses his thighs, cups his balls. Midorima’s eyes roll back. They’re making short work of him, but lasting too long is overrated.  
  
Akashi eases Midorima out, hollowing his cheeks for all of a wonderful second, and Takao takes over while Akashi presses his fingers inside Midorima’s ass, small and deliberate, one, two, three. It’s a single digit number of minutes, maybe even those he can count on one hand, before he comes in Takao’s mouth. Fuck, that was so good (a happy birthday indeed).


	10. imahana phone sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phone sex, blood/knives
> 
> br4, for dw user moetushie

They’re in the same city tonight, once again; Shouichi’s traveling on business from Kansai, hotel room on the twenty-seventh floor high above Tokyo. Neon lights, cars, trains, are far below him; billboards have been lit up by patterns dropping shadows in triangles at the bottom of the canvas. The phone pressed to Shouichi’s ear is ringing.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Aren’t you happy to hear from me, Makoto? I’m wounded.”  
  
“Oh, Shouichi, I didn’t know it was you—kidding, of course I have caller ID, dumbass. Dod you have to call right now?”  
  
“I thought it might be nice,” says Shouichi, eyeing the convenience store sushi and bottled beer on the table, hardly a fancy dinner but he’s not going to waste extra money when it’s such a hassle to get it on the company dime.   
  
Makoto scoffs.  
  
“What are you wearing?”  
  
“A bloody knife and a smile,” says Makoto. “What are you wearing?”  
  
With Makoto that might be true; it might not be—the smile part is almost definitely a lie, although perhaps thinking about phone sex from so close by has turned his pout into something else. Then again, it’s Makoto, so perhaps not.   
  
“The usual. Suit, tie, shirt untucked,” says Shouichi. “My glasses, too.”  
  
“Take those off. Sit down.”  
  
“So bossy,” Shouichi says with a sigh, but does as he’s told, sinking into the shitty hotel chair and placing his glasses on the table next to his dinner. “Didn’t anyone tell you to respect your elders?”  
  
“Like I’d listen to that,” says Makoto.  
  
“Is that a knife in your hand or are you happy to see me?”  
  
“I’ll hang up.”  
  
“I’ll watch porn on the hotel TV.”  
  
“Loser.”  
  
“So you’re naked without the knife?”  
  
“I meant what I said,” says Makoto.  
  
“Can you slide it across your stomach?”  
  
Shouichi hears the hitch in his breath, imagines the cold metal of a butcher’s knife (never mind what kind of knife it actually is, if there is one) against the flat plane of Makoto’s stomach, the shiver, the way it almost cuts his flesh, the stark shine against Makoto’s skin, the tan that’s not quite faded, the wet blood smearing red on him.   
  
“Good,” Shouichi purrs, unzipping his fly so that Makoto can hear it.  
  
“My hand’s on my cock right now, but I need you to make me hard.”  
  
“Think about my mouth on it,” says Makoto. “I’m putting down the knife; I have to hold the phone.”  
  
“And your cock?”  
  
Shouichi can hear Makoto roll his eyes. “Yes, and my cock.”


	11. aomurakagahimu, tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, references to prostitution (though none of the characters engage in it)
> 
> br4, for dw user ellipsometry

Tatsuya sits down on Atsushi’s lip, pressing his lips to Atsushi’s, quick and quiet. “Can I have five hundred yen?”  
  
He acts like a prostitute sometimes, like he gives blow jobs or the promise thereof for money, like every time he fucks Daiki it’s because there’s a few bills in his hand for it, like his lack of a job is made up for by good sex after a long day for the rest of them. Like it’s some sort of even exchange. It kind of bothers Atsushi, but he’s not going to stop giving Tatsuya money to buy the things he wants and he’s not going to tell him to stop kissing and touching and fucking; he’s not going to stop their group sext that always flares up when Taiga’s out of town (sometimes they put him on speaker with the three of them in bed together, Daiki riding Atsushi, Tatsuya coming on both of their faces, the sounds of sex filling their own room, Taiga’s broken breaths joining them from far away, obvious but not pulling them out of the glorious moment.  
  
He shifts his weight, grinding his ass against Atsushi’s cock, and Atsushi thinks about how he didn’t wear a belt today, how he could easily undo his fly and pull it out and, well.   
  
“Hey, come back,” he says when Tatsuya sits up, bill between his fingers, and rolls off.  
  
“Hmm?” says Tatsuya, waving on the way out.  
  
“Fucking tease,” Atsushi says to the room at large.  
  
The good thing about having all of them there is that they take turns; when Tatsuya’s out hustling pool Daiki’s back from the late shift; when Atsushi’s at his nine-to-five Daiki’s sleeping in or Taiga’s on a layover or both. Taiga looks up from the other couch, half-asleep; he’d missed Tatsuya entirely because of his jet lag; Atsushi rolls his eyes.  
  
“What?” says Taiga.  
  
He is so utterly unattractive and it’s almost cute sometimes, but Atsushi’s not the one who’s going to say that (it’s Tatsuya’s job, not his).  
  
“Tatsuya went to play pool.”  
  
“I wish he wouldn’t,” says Taiga.  
  
“Make him get a real job.”  
  
Taiga looks back, trying to go for angry but just ending up kind of sad and confused. Atsushi’s cock is still thinking about Tatsuya’s ass, and Taiga’s is pretty damn fine, too (he won’t compare them; it’ll just end up badly for everyone).   
  
“Come here,” he says. “Let me fuck you.”  
  
“I just woke up,” says Taiga, but he comes.


	12. murahimu, cold heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gore, cannibalism, death
> 
> br4, for dw user mondegreened

People say that Himuro's cold. That his heart is made of ice. His body is still warm, though, for now; he has seen the heart as it has stilled, stopped beating, covered in blood like strawberry syrup, drying on the outside to something closer to a chocolate color. Murasakibara licks at his fingers; they taste less than sweet, more than sweet, more than the slight bitterness of even milk chocolate. Different, like rust, like something's gone bad.  
  
This is only good, Murasakibara thinks. This can only be good, the best end. Endings themselves are underrated, scorned, but people talked about Himuro like he was dead already, like he was a ghost, like he was cold and buried. Six feet under, he’s six feet tall. His legs are spread awkwardly; blood is spattered on the wall behind him like a frame, a badly-drawn contour, like ruffles on his torso. An odd pattern.   
  
The heart is still warm and sticky and still; Murasakibara thinks about four chambers and the aorta, the things he’d learned in biology but doesn’t quite remember, the unremarkable shape of Himuro’s heart. He had been expecting something deeper. Himuro seems heartless, almost, so they say; Murasakibara knows it’s the opposite and he’s overcompensating; he cares too much, too far forward. Cared, Murasakibara supposes. He’d been expecting something larger, obviously engorged, misshapen, but Himuro’s heart is normal, like something straight out of a textbook. Emotions are felt in the brain; Murasakibara knows that, too. Love, happiness, grief. Himuro’s heart, bitter.  
  
Sweeter than it should be, tender like meat (the meat that it is), different from the kisses he’d given Murasakibara, bitter with black coffee, taste consonant with himself. But this is cooling on his tongue, the pooled blood, left as the pumping mechanism had failed, almost the texture of ice cream. The right kind of cold to go with the obvious assumptions, or perhaps not. A softer cold. Softer than people had known. Everyone had pretended to want to know Himuro, but none of them had wanted to see much more than a cold-faced pretty boy. Perhaps this is the wrong moment to be glad of anything, meat on his tongue, veins tangled through his bloody fingers, but Murasakibara is, a little bit, glad that he’d known this Himuro, the sweeter side of him, the one more beautiful from the mask but guarded, hidden from the world, like a pearl inside the oyster you have to crack open and kill to extract.


	13. imaaka, 12 feet under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> violence/gore, blood, murder, etc
> 
> br4

Imayoshi’s never had to wonder much if Akashi had really meant all the things he’d said. He’d shown them soon enough, his true color the bright red of fresh blood, on his hands, on his mouth, kissed off with the tang of salty rust. He makes a pretty picture like that, lips bruised from kissing too much, a ring of blood around them, matching his hair, matching the red-brown fingerprints he’s left on Imayoshi’s skin, arms and hips and waist. A temporary mark, scrubbed off, though Imayoshi reckons the blood’s still on their hands in some form or another. Then again, leave the poets and academics to their books. Imayoshi and Akashi live more in the world of reality than that one, than pretty turns of phrases.  
  
Sometimes they plan it carefully, neatly, to the letter; sometimes Akashi gets impatient and goes for it; the repairman is asking too many questions like what’s really stopping up the drain, getting down into the trenches and promising no extra charge, opening the door to the basement. They’re running out of time to store the bodies, space before the line decays it all away; the repairman’s body is slumped over the kitchen chair, his eyes gouged out, one in each of Akashi’s hands.  
  
The knife is sticking out of his throat, as if Akashi had gotten bored with trying to sever it halfway through, as if the bones were too thick to cut and he hadn’t wanted to make too much of a mess, though it might be a little hard what with the jugular bleeding all over the floor, a pool of red Imayoshi almost slips in.  
  
“We’re going to have to bury this one,” Imayoshi says. “I reckon.”  
  
Akashi nods, squeezing the eyeballs until they burst on his hands; Imayoshi never wants to look away, wishes he could make it go in slower motion. No matter, there are other kills; there will be other kills.  
  
“What about his car? His log?”  
  
“He’s the only one in his office,” says Akashi. “I called him from the burner phone.”  
  
Into the river that one goes, better hope he doesn’t record his phone conversations. Then again when he’s discovered missing, the scooter, too—that can go in the back of their garage until they find somewhere to dispose of it, a reclamation service or a thrift store donation. Right now there’s a body, chubby cheeks to slit open, organs to haul out and stuff somewhere else so the deadweight’s lighter, a frame to contort and bury twelve feet under. The work doesn’t stop.


	14. aomura, mura in a dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, crossdressing as a fetish
> 
> br4

This dress must have been designed to kill all rational thought. It’s kind of hard for anything not to be tight on Murasakibara’s frame, height and muscle and all, but Aomine’s surprised Murasakibara had managed to get this tight thing on, especially with his lack of patience. But whatever ordeal it had been? Totally worth it. Aomine swallows, and Murasakibara smirks.  
  
His hair is pulled off his neck into a bun it’s barely long enough for; Aomine thinks suddenly of the hairpins always scattered around Satsuki’s room, sliding them out of Murasakibara’s hair. His neck, long, elegant, his collarbones. The way the dress rises, the strapless neckline, the ruffles at the top, making it almost look like Murasakibara has breasts. Nice. (Are his pecs big enough to motorboat? Probably not.)  
  
It skims along his waist, flutters loosely over his hips, the top of his thighs; it ends about a third of the way down to his knees, and if he were to bend over—wow. And his legs go on like the ocean, like an airplane runway, ten times as long as they always do, looking literally longer than Aomine’s entire body.  
  
“God,” Aomine chokes out. “Murasakibara, this is. Fuck.”  
  
“You like it,” says Murasakibara. “Good; I don’t want to zip up into this again.”  
  
“I’ll zip you,” says Aomine.  
  
“You could unzip me,” says Murasakibara.  
  
“I kind of want to fuck you while you’re wearing the dress,” says Aomine.   
  
“Kind of?” says Murasakibara.  
  
“Really,” says Aomine, licking his dry lips to wet them. “I really want to fuck you in that dress. Like, right now/”  
  
Murasakibara pulls up the skirt; there’s lace underneath and he’s not wearing any underwear and, oh. His cock is soft, but Aomine’s isn’t, and he’s going to change that first part pretty soon if he can.  
  
“Did anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” Aomine says. “How gorgeous, how fantastic?”  
  
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” says Murasakibara.  
  
“I'm trying to appreciate you.”  
  
“You can appreciate me when I’m out of this dress,” says Murasakibara, and shoves his tongue down Aomine’s throat.  
  
It’s a little bit quicker than Aomine would like, but his hand’s already on Murasakibara’s cock; he’s grinding his groin against Murasakibara’s bare thigh, the fabric of the skirt bunched in his other hand.  
  
“Don’t mess up my dress.”  
  
“Thought you weren’t going to wear it again?”  
  
Murasakibara huffs into the kiss, but doesn’t argue.


	15. aomomo, first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, blood mentions, virginity/first time
> 
> br4

There’s no other way to describe their first time but totally awful. Satsuki can’t believe Daiki came at all; she hadn’t been doing that great, or even really known what she was doing. It’s a hell of a lot different when it’s your own fingers inside of you than when it’s someone else’s cock, moving too fast—there had been brief seconds when he’d rubbed at just the right spot, but they’d flickered out and away, and she’d ended up just waiting for it to be over. Your first time is supposed to suck, but it’s not supposed to suck in an overwhelming way. Everything had gone okay; Daiki hadn’t had trouble getting it up and Satsuki had bled a little but it hadn’t really been painful, just a bit uncomfortable.  
  
She cleans the blood from between her legs, the sweat from her torso, looks at herself in the mirror. She doesn’t feel any different.  
  
“You okay?” says Daiki. “I did okay, right?”  
  
She looks at him, sensing the appeal, the insecurity. “You were awful, actually.”  
  
His face falls; she reaches out to pat his shoulder.  
  
“Did I hurt you? You said it didn’t.”  
  
“It didn’t.”  
  
“Shit, Satsuki, I’m really sorry."  
  
“It’s not like I was overly concerned with your pleasure, either,” she says. “I was kind of uncomfortable and then you were going really fast, and you know. Slow and steady wins the race.”  
  
“Oh,” he says.  
  
He’s blushing, cheeks to the tips of his ears.   
  
“You were good, though.”  
  
“Really?” she says.   
  
He nods; he means it, and, well, he did come (his own hand has made him come many times before, but she’s the same way—though it’s easier if you have a dick, she supposes.)  
  
“Thank you,” she says. “I don’t know what I was doing, though.”  
  
His face relaxes; they’ve known each other how long (can’t remember that there was ever a time when it wasn’t the two of them, together, always) and he’d been just as nervous as she had, just like that first date they’d been on when everything was suddenly awkward. She kisses him.  
  
“We’ll try again tomorrow, okay?”  
  
She wants to; she wants to enjoy sex; the idea of Daiki inside her, the few times he’s fingered her, a little clumsy but sometimes so on the money, is almost getting her into it right now. But right now they need to sleep it off, and, hey, they did it. Even though it was awful, it’s worth being a little proud of.


	16. aokise, booty call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> casual sex, sexual content, closeted character
> 
> br4

God, Kise feels horrible. It’s been seven months since his las breakup, a few times fooling around with people at promotional shoots, at bars, but nothing too risky. He’s an NBA player, a celebrity; he can’t look at anyone in the Bay Area without showing up in five fucking tabloids. And right now he’s thirsty for dick. Funny, isn’t it, a city with a great gay scene and the only thing he’s going to get from going downtown is outed? Kise’s phone buzzes; he sighs.  
  
 _hey im in sac u wanna hang out_  
  
 _don’t come here_  
  
Okay, it’s not really a booty call, but Kise knows how to turn it into one. He and Aomine have hooked up before, drunk and stumbling into Kise’s bed at the all-star game, post-loss letdown at the Olympics, the time Kise had ended up snowbound at Aomine’s place in Cleveland and they’d fucked all night with the heater on as high as it would go. And Aomine’s in Sacramento, far enough but not too far.  
  
(Maybe this was a mistake, Kise thinks, once he gets stuck on the highway, when it’s two and a half hours later and he’s exhausted, but one skinny latte later he’s thinking about Aomine’s cock again, warm in his mouth.)  
  
“Traffic bad?" Aomine asks, opening the door to his hotel room wearing nothing but very low riding sweats.  
  
So this was a booty call. “Anything for you,” says Kise, elbowing the door closed behind him and kissing Aomine firmly on the lips.  
  
“This is a surprise,” Aomine murmurs.  
  
“Is it,” says Kise.  
  
“Nah,” says Aomine.  
  
“Good; I want your cock in my mouth stat.”  
  
“Always the romantic,” says Aomine, but he smiles and drops his sweatpants (no underwear, ugh, but he’s probably just showered.  
  
Kise pushes Aomine to the bed, lets him scoot up against the cushions and watches him spread his legs. Then he smiles and takes Aomine’s cock in his mouth all at once. He’s got no gag reflex, and Aomine’s cock would probably be big enough to just trigger it if he did, but his mouth feels so full. His tongue pokes the head, curls around the shaft. Aomine moans, loud like the porn stars he’s always trying to imitate (it’s cute).   
  
Kise rolls off when he’s done; his own cock is hard and aching a little, and he jerks off onto Aomine’s stomach; Aomine watches him all lazy and smug and satisfied. God, that was good, short but completely worth the ridiculous drive. Kise feels better already.  
  
“Get me room service,” he says after he finishes and wipes them both down.  
  
He’s got no plans to do anything but sleep right now, but waking up to cold expensive steak sounds pretty good to him.


	17. momoriko, alien!momoi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, interspecies (human/alien) sex
> 
> br4, for dw user stariceling

Her antenna glows in the dark and in the light, the bulb pulsing green, complementing the pink of her hair (at first, Riko had thought it looked radioactive like slime, and then she’d felt it in her hands, smooth and soft right down to the uneven ends below Satsuki’s waist). She looks human, ethereally so, but human, except for that.  
  
“It pulses faster when I’m excited,” says Satsuki. “You can touch it if you want.”  
  
Riko feels transparent; she does want to and Satsuki bows her head. It feels a little smoother than the stem of a plant, just as soft, breakable; it’s almost like rubber under her fingers running up and down. They reach the bulb, and she can feel whatever excited electrons that pulse the light bouncing faster, harder. She brushes her fingers over the tip and Satsuki gasps. Interesting. Riko leans forward.  
  
“Can I?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She kisses the antenna; it throbs against her lips; she bites softly and it gives, just a little. Satsuki whines; the antenna pulses faster. But that’s not the only interesting part of her, her body that seems to fold itself out and burst forth, hips and waist and ass in perfect proportions, breasts perky and brilliant even though she never bothers wearing a bra (and maybe it’s her weird alien body that doesn’t feel the need for support, not that Riko would know what that even is).  
  
Her nipples glow when Riko tweaks them; her antenna, oh so sensitive, is still pulsing faster, Riko takes one in her mouth; Satsuki pushes her body forward as if she thinks she can get her entire breast in there; Riko licks around the nipple but Satsuki shouldn’t be so greedy.  
  
“Wait,” Riko murmurs, her words vibrating on Satsuki’s skin, Satsuki’s glowing nipple warm and pink in her mouth.  
  
She spreads her legs wide, effortlessly almost into a split; Riko wonders if she’s flexible enough to just get fisted like this, if that's how martian bodies (or at least Satsuki’s martian body) work. One finger doesn’t seem to do much, nor two or three, even with Riko kissing her clit, rubbing her thighs (she doesn’t glow down there, not in light visible to Riko’s eyes, anyway). She comes all of a sudden; Riko had thought she'd been only a little wet, but three fingers and tongue and she clenches hard around Riko, her voice a loud shriek, her toes curled against Riko’s shoulder blades.


	18. kagahimu, praise kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, praise kink
> 
> br4

  
“You’re so good, Tatsuya,” Taiga breathes, lifting his head to nuzzle Taiga. “So, so good. I love the way your cock feels inside of me.”  
  
He kisses Tatsuya, tender, content with Tatsuya not moving, to let him feel the tight heat of Taiga around him. Tatsuya closes his eyes; Taiga’s the one who’s so good, tight and hot, slicked up with lube.  
  
“So good,” says Taiga, lifting back Tatsuya’s hair, kissing his forehead and that eyelid and the side of his cheek. “So beautiful, so amazing, Tatsuya.”  
  
And the words don’t sound insincere; they ring true, with a reverence that Taiga couldn’t fake if he’d tried (for all the time they’ve had together Taiga’s never been able to pick up Tatsuya’s skill at lying, for all he’d learned and surpassed on the court, as a person—though in that respect maybe he’d been ahead from the start). And it’s like he’s sensing the direction of Tatsuya’s thoughts, or maybe it’s written on his face in a way he can’t hide from Taiga (because Taiga always picks it up, because he’s been watching Tatsuya for so long) or maybe Tatsuya’s just that boring and predictable, thoughts when he should be happy coming back to this.  
  
“Hey,” says Taiga. “What about that contract you just signed? You should have had league max; you deserve that much—I’d have given you that much.”  
  
“Screwed up the salary cap?”  
  
“Fuck the salary cap; you deserve the most,” says Taiga, pushing down against Tatsuya’s cock and, oh; Tatsuya shivers.  
  
“Do you want to,” Taiga whispers.  
  
“Yeah, I want to fuck you,” Tatsuya says.  
  
“Please,” says Taiga. “Please, Tatsuya, you do it so well.”  
  
His fingers are digging into Tatsuya’s shoulders in anticipation, and Tatsuya starts to move his hips. Taiga moves to meet him, whispering little words of flattery, about how wonderful he is, about his beautiful shot, his beautiful hands, how sweet he is, how much he cares. Tatsuya feels like sobbing, except his cock is so needy, already leaking inside Taiga, already ready. His other hand goes down to Taiga’s cock, thumbing the tip; Taiga stops moving.  
  
“Don’t worry about me; this is about you.”  
  
“I want to make you come,” says Tatsuya. “Please.”  
  
“Anything," says Taiga.   
  
Tatsuya moves again, thrusting harder; Taiga shouts; Tatsuya’s fingers are erratic over Taiga’s shaft, head; he’s wet with lube and maybe precome; maybe together—Tatsuya comes first, a thrust and a groan as he feels himself spilling, sticky and wet inside Taiga, and Taiga’s still whispering good, wonderful, amazing, perfect, lovely.


	19. aoaka, orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, dom/sub tropes
> 
> br4

“Kneel for me,” says Akashi. “Do it.”  
  
His eyes cut Aomine down; the order is direct; he will kneel. It’s only a matter of time, the resistance he puts up that’s more than a token. He is not a tame dog, a robot reprogrammed; he’ll kneel when he damn well wants to, because he damn well wants to. He looks back at Akashi, and then carefully sinks to his knees, placing his hands behind his back. This is not submission; he is doing what he wants.  
  
Akashi hums in approval; perhaps Aomine had taken too long to elicit praise like a trained animal, but Aomine really doesn’t mind. The less they talk, the sooner he gets to suck Akashi's dick. But Akashi likes it when he gets to test Aomine’s patience, and he seems to be spending a little too much time unzipping his fly. Aomine’s interest in looking at the front of Akashi’s pants is kind of minimal right now, especially because Akashi’s not even hard.  
  
“Want me to?” says Aomine.  
  
“No,” says Akashi, and pauses, the button undone (Aomine could pull the zipper with his teeth if he wanted to).   
  
Aomine’s knees are starting to feel the floor beneath them; it’s another reason he doesn’t like it when this takes too long; he’d rather be distracted at this point. But Akashi likes to test his patience, not push it beyond all limits. He’s not that mean; he’s not going to make Aomine beg and plead (though perhaps it’s because he doesn’t find that attractive). Akashi unzips his fly, pulls down his underwear enough to pull out his dick, thumbing over the shaft, then brushing the tip. Aomine’s eyes follow his fingers and, God.   
  
“Suck,” says Akashi.  
  
Aomine doesn’t need to be told twice; he leans forward and takes Akashi slowly into his mouth, deeper, deeper, suppressing his gag reflex. He gets comfortable with the feel of it in his mouth, locking up and down the shaft and giving up on not making slurping noises. He’s never really been sure if Akashi likes it or not, but Akashi’s hand comes to rest in Aomine’s hair, tugging him forward. Aomine licks and sucks, lets Akashi’s dick fall almost all the way out and then reeling him back in, relishing the sharp hiss Akashi makes when his dick’s exposed to the cold air, Akashi comes as he always does, fingers clenching against Aomine’s scalp, and Aomine swallows down the come, letting Akashi fall back out again.  
  
“Good,” says Akashi.  
  
He crouches down to kiss Aomine on the mouth, and Aomine knows it’s his turn next.


	20. aoaka, first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, virginity/first time, discussion of pornography
> 
> br4

Akashi’s a little bit tighter than even the virgin characters in porn are. Maybe that’s because porn’s not real (Aomine knows it well enough), but still. They’ve fooled around before, fingered each other; Aomine thought he would have gotten his dick inside Akashi already. That’s the important part; that’s what he’s here for, tight heat all around him. He wonders if he’s used enough lube already or maybe more.   
  
“Wow, you’re tight,” says Aomine, working in another finger.  
  
Akashi spreads his legs wide, accommodating only when it comes to sex, and gives Aomine a half-annoyed sort of look. “It’s your first time, too.”  
  
“Well, yeah,” says Aomine, but come on.  
  
He’s spent most of his life thinking about sticking his dick inside of things, and it’s only in the past couple of months that he’s thought about sticking his dick inside Akashi’s ass, and only inside Akashi’s ass. It’s going to be weird and he won’t be perfect at it, but it probably wouldn’t be so obvious that it’s his first time as it is Akashi’s. (Do guys bleed? Aomine doesn’t want to rip something, but what if he does? What if he goes harder than Akashi wants? What if he’s too big? So Akashi’s a little bigger than him, that’s part of the reason they’d decided Aomine would try to top first, anyway—and Aomine’s not small, okay. He’s just not as big as Akashi.)   
  
“This was more fun when you weren’t thinking about something else," says Akashi. “Slow down a little.”  
  
Slow down? This is already taking so long—he’s probably not going to come in this condom right now, though, even if he’s got three fingers in Akashi’s ass. Akashi wriggles around him and, oh, that feels good; it clearly does for Akashi, too; he lets out a little sigh. (Wait, what if Akashi comes now? Are they going to have to start all over in a few hours?) Akashi sighs again; Aomine keeps stretching him, poking his fingers in a little bit further.  
  
“You can put it in,” says Akashi, abruptly; perhaps he’s getting just as fed up with this as Aomine is.   
  
Aomine grins, wiping his fingers on the sheets and ignoring Akashi’s glance at it. He moves steady between Akashi’s legs, and tries to position his dick so it’ll go in, and then pushes. Akashi’s ass isn’t giving, even with the lube.   
  
“Can you like, unclench?”  
  
Akashi gives Aomine another look, as if he’s fed up with him. He spreads his legs again and Aomine pushes. Finally, finally, he starts to slide in and oh, yeah, this is just as hot as he’s been promised.


	21. momoriko, dat ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, riko @ satsuki's ass
> 
> br4

Satsuki’s ass, though. That’s a sentence that needs to stand for itself, to really convey how glorious that ass of hers is, the way it puts Riko beyond coherent thought sometimes (like when Satsuki’s fresh from the shower and she knows Riko’s going to yell at her for getting her clotehs wet but she doesn’t care; her bare ass on Riko’s lap is just, oh, and when Riko squeezes it from the sides Satsuki wiggles it and makes a pleased sort of sound in the back of her mouth (Riko reminds herself that she’s got shit to do and Satsuki had just gotten cleaned off, but still that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to lay Satsuki down on the floor and take her right then and there).   
  
It’s not like she saves it for inappropriate moments; her outfits are always on point, the little pencil skirts around her waist and hips emphasizing the shape from the top, tight pants, tight shorts. It’s enough to make Riko jealous; her own ass is pretty flat, but Satsuki’s hers. She’s the only one who gets to touch and feel the glorious meaty give, the way it’s so soft, toned but still pliant as it can be. God, Riko could never get tired of Satsuki’s ass, not in a million years.  
  
She fucks Satsuki with a strap on from behind, hands squeezing Satsuki’s ass the whole time, making it that much easier to come so quickly, the sight in front of her, Satsuki looking over her shoulder whenever Riko pauses to tell her keep going, the kiss Riko leans over to give Satsuki. She’s doing great; she always is; it’s all about the way she moves, whether against a dildo or against Riko’s hand, on her lap or on the bed. God, she is wonderful; she always knows exactly what she’s doing, too. There’s a smirk on her face, in her voice undisguised like the first time Riko had grabbed her ass and almost choked on the sound she’d made, all the way back after they’d first started dating.  
  
“You like?” she says, even though they both know the answer to the question already.   
  
“Yeah,” says Riko, because she can’t not be honest about this.  
  
Satsuki looks smug and satisfied, backing it up even more into Riko’s hands, as if she wants Riko to smush the skin and muscle so hard it gives her bruises. And goddamn would they look good, her fingerprints all over Satsuki’s pale, pretty ass cheeks, marking Satsuki as hers.


	22. kikasa, lingerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, implied underage, lingerie
> 
> br4

Kise often knocks on Kasamatsu’s door, to hang out or to drag him out to karaoke with some of the guys from the team, or to spend some time together doing more intimate things. Today he seems poised to do the last of these things, that particular smirk on his lips. Kasamatsu’s got homework, but nothing urgent; the diligent side of him says to knock it out tonight but the horny side of him is speaking louder, especially when Kise comes and kisses him at his desk.   
  
“Senpai, I have a surprise for you.”  
  
“Is it sex?”  
  
“Senpai,” says Kise, pouting. “That’s not a surprise. But you’ll see.”  
  
Kasamatsu kisses him again, this time with more tongue, still something he hasn’t quite figured out but Kise’s assured him he’s doing well (and Kise wouldn’t lie about that; he’s honest when the situation calls for it, at least with respect to this). Kise presses his body against Kasamatsu and Kasamatsu feels something under Kise’s shirt, between him and Kise’s body. He pushes Kise off and squints; under the white school shirt he can just see the outline of a hot pink bra.   
  
“Oh, my god," says Kasamatsu and his face feels as if it’s caught on fire, like it’s about to melt off his skull and turn to smoke.  
  
“You want to see more?” says Kise.  
  
The top button of his shirt is undone; he shrugs his shoulder so it tilts and Kasamatsu can just see the edge of the strap, like lacy ribbon, and then Kise snaps it against his skin.   
  
“Oh,” says Kasamatsu again; his vocabulary is as limited as if a girl’s talking to him about homework, only he can’t even think about either of those things in abstract because Kise is slowly unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
Kasamatsu’s eyes are fixated on Kise’s sternum, covered by the bra cups scooping in; if Kise had boobs they wouldn’t be all that much covered. Kise’s nipples are peeking out over the tops; the straps are sliding toward his shoulders. The hot pink against his toned skin is almost hurting Kasamatsu’s eyes; his hand shifts to rub his cock under his slacks.  
  
“Oh, you can touch yourself,” says Kise. “Please, do.”  
  
Kasamatsu pulls his cock out, pumping it already; Kise’s torso is there to look at, the bra beckoning at him; he reaches out to slide a hand under one strap and Kise sighs, his fingers fumbling at his belt buckle just a little.  
  
Of course he’s wearing matching panties; of course there’s a lace pattern in front over the bulge becoming more and more obvious, the elastic (and is that satin?) hugging his narrow hips. Kasamatsu feels lucky he doesn’t come in five seconds.


	23. aomomo, severed head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> violence (callous attitude toward it), blood, knives, dismemberment

It’s sad that Daiki had to go, but it’s the way of the world. Sometimes there’s sadness cutting through the happiness like a countercurrent in a river, a fish swimming upstream; that’s especially true the greater and wider the happiness is. Maybe it’s not all fun and games, killing everyone here, but they’d deserved it. Satsuki knows what they’ve done, all of them. It was Kuroko who’d inspired her to give people what they deserve, and the people at this rotten school deserve this. A bloody end, a knife, a sword.  
  
It had been easy enough to get the artillery, specialty shops for kitchenware and armor; Satsuki knows enough to pretend to be some nerdy kid who’s really into old stuff, and when worst comes to worst she can just charm the shopkeepers. She’d taken them all down, splattered their blood before they could come closer, the weakest to the strongest. She’s been collecting data for years; she’s got all of theirs, the transgressions, from petty theft to larceny, underage drinking to peddling drugs, a hit-and-run motorcycle accident, damages, injury, assault. Maybe Satsuki’s assaulting them, too, but doesn’t justice absolve her? Doesn’t the blood, their blood, warm and drying all over her arms and face and hair, the crimson color of the characters on the Touou basketball uniforms, fitting. Of course it is. Of course this is a school of blood, for the guilty and the damned (though perhaps she has absolved them of their sins, enough to get them into Purgatory perhaps).  
  
She’d saved Daiki for last, fled his shouts and the way he’d raced after her, as fast as he goes, gone up the stairs and around the bend, spared no one in her slaughter. And she’d found him here, in the gym, blood streaked on her sneakers, and taken her knife.  
  
“Satsuki, what the fuck, put the knife down—”  
  
It’s too bad he’d died with such an ugly expression on his face, but she’d always loved the weird faces he’d make. Perhaps it was all fitting, really, the school, Satsuki’s revenge, Daiki’s face. She holds him by his hair, thinks about that mouth that had just eaten her out the other night, her swords in the closet, before they’d speared a line of volleyball players right through their perfect abs. The police will be here soon; she can hear the sirens in the distance. The gym floor is slippery with blood, but Daiki deserves one final basket. She looks at the jagged cut through his neck; she owed him a better job.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dai-chan.”  
  
She shoots his head from the free throw line, nothing but net.


	24. kikasa, sealskin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> killing of animals, vomit, blood/gore

The pelt is in his hands, spotted and probably soft. Kasamatsu can tell just what it is from his vantage at the edge of the dunes; he could tell if he hadn’t just seen Kise do it, fangs bared, a siren on the rocks at the edge of the sea. Watching had made Kasamatsu transfixed, unable to move away, riveted by the sudden motion, the tearing of the flesh. That thing in Kise’s hands had once been a seal, a living animal; the thought of it makes Kasamatsu gag and the contents of his stomach (if there are any left) threaten to return from where they came. He’s already puked into the dune grass; the first time had been when he’d heard the sound, the shrieking seal, the tearing, seen Kise’s face; he’d tried not to look back after turning his head down but he had to. And then at the end, Kise’s bright smile, the white of his teeth shining with the red of blood, seal guts and blubber stuck to the edges.  
  
Kasamatsu can’t move; he can’t flee in terror from the monster Kise is, but he can’t move closer. Is he next? Will Kise cut off his skin and wear it? (It wouldn’t fit; thinking of that, in detail, makes Kasamatsu shudder and feel faint.) What is Kise going to do with this pelt? He’s tearing the head off, fangs biting at the edges of the neck, more blood and guts (do animals have that much? how could it have fit in one body that small?) staining the fur, staining Kise’s beautiful, soft hands.  
  
When Kise had left the beach house that morning, his teeth had been normal, shining and white and human, but he is standing on the shore now, ripping off the seal’s head and his teeth are lethal. There is a slit in the chest of the pelt, jagged like a hole, as if Kise had bitten out the heart, and perhaps he had. It’s impossible to say what had landed where in the pile of seal innards, bones and fat and guts and organs, on the rocks; Kasamatsu doesn’t want to think about it even more than he already is.  
  
“Hey! Kasamatsu-san!” Kise calls, but his voice is different; the beach is warm but Kasamatsu feels a chill from his teeth all the way down through each of his bones.   
  
He can’t move; he can’t go; he can’t stay.


	25. murahimu, eyeball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graphic violence (to the eyes), hospital setting

Tatsuya’s in here to have his appendix operated on. That's the official reason; that’s why the doctors think he’s here, but right now he’s alone in the room, hospital gown covering his frame, knocked out by the drugs. The appendix came out okay; Tatsuya’s going to be fine, but they’re in the hospital, and there’s no better place to take care of this, in the event that something goes wrong. Which Atsushi doubts it will, but he’s no doctor, just a guy looking down at his boyfriend, the dead eye in his socket he always talks about getting rid of in some half-humorous way that leaves Atsushi somewhat unsure of whether he means it or not. Still, he thinks about the disease Tatsuya had only ever mentioned once, the one he keeps a taboo around, the one that could always come back, deadly and insidious—Atsushi’s not afraid, but still. It’s better safe than sorry, isn’t it?  
  
(Maybe, if he gets a glass eye, something pretty like that, he’ll stop covering that half of his face; maybe this is all the impetus he needs.)  
  
Atsushi pushes back his bangs, looks at his face, relaxed from the drugs, completely unresponsive. Good. He doesn’t want Tatsuya to feel any more pain about this. Then he reaches into Tatsuya’s eye socket and pulls.  
  
It’s hard to get a grip on the eye; it’s so tightly wedged in and it won’t come out; it’s too slippery for Atsushi to get his fingers around at first (and his fingers are too damn big for this). But it has to be done, and underneath him Tatsuya still hasn’t noticed, still is breathing normally, his heart rate coming in a steady beat on the machine. Finally, finally, Atsushi pushes just right and he hears a nasty sort of squishing pop, the eye coming out, like a smoke alarm screwed out of the wall dangling from the wire. There it is; he’s just got to sever it completely, and that’s an easy tear to make, easier than pulling out the eye itself.   
  
It’s bleeding where he’d severed it (some kind of blood vessel); the beep of Tatsuya’s heart rate is increasing. Head wounds always bleed, don’t they? At least, Atsushi can remember hearing that. Tatsuya stirs; Atsushi has to go—go where? Where, with the eye? He shoves his way out of the door; the hallways is deserted but he walks down, the eye encased in his hand, warm and sticky and soft.


	26. nijihai, locker room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit sex
> 
> br5

They so rarely get to play on the same team, maybe the all star game if they both get named to the roster and they’re both healthy and in the same conference, but that’s a maybe once every year, and Shuuzou’s thinking that they should definitely make this charity thing an annual event. For one, every time they’ve had it they’ve raised huge chunks of cash for local youth programs (and more to come when they auction off the jerseys they’re just now stripping from their backs). And for another, handling the ball on the same court as Shougo, now that they’re adults near peak performance (okay, so this game doesn’t count, but they’re going pretty hard and it’s not like the group of NBA regulars they’ve assembled is half-assing it, either), well--that's pretty fucking great.   
  
And now they’ve got the (locked) locker room all to themselves, the keys dangling from Shougo’s finger, smirk on Shougo’s face. Hell yeah. Shuuzou steps out of his shorts and underwear, hanging the shorts in his locker as he lets Shougo have a nice long look. He’s still wearing the high socks, but no one had told him they’d be auctioning those off (and Shuuzou’s not sure who would want to buy his charity game used socks, anyway, but hey).   
  
Shuuzou digs into his bag and pulls out a condom, tossing it to Shougo from a couple of meters away. “Want to get this on me?”  
  
“Straight to business, huh?” says Shougo, grinning and shucking his own uniform, walking slowly toward Shuuzou.  
  
“You’re the one who said locker room sex,” says Shuuzou, sitting down on the bench. “I figured, time—”  
  
“Mm, you're the organizer,” says Shougo, sitting down and straddling Shuuzou’s lap. “You got plenty of time.”  
  
He grinds his hips forward, fisting both of their soft cocks in his hand at once. “Lube?”  
  
“You sat down first,” says Shuuzou; he leans forward to lightly nip at Shougo’s mouth. “In my bag."  
  
Shougo sighs theatrically but gets up; it’s Shuuzou’s turn to watch his bare ass, round, underexposed to the sun compared to the rest of him, and relatively free of the ink that’s spread on his arms, back, chest, legs, neck. Shougo pulls out the bottle and struts back over, watches Shuuzou watch him, the lines of the three claws tattooed on Shougo’s abs moving as he breathes. Shougo grins as he sits down again, wiggling his ass on the top of Shuuzou’s thighs (damn him).   
  
“Ready now?”  
  
“Only if you are.”


	27. (aka)mido, onsen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> graphic masturbation, sexual fantasy

The onsen is empty. Technically, Midorima shouldn’t bring in his glasses, but also technically, there’s no one with him and he’d rather not slip and fall when there’s no one around to help him. There’s no Akashi to hold onto today; he’d had a last minute business trip and he’d assured Midorima he would be back before their planned vacation was over.  
  
Still, it’s just Midorima in the Akashi family’s private hot springs, to do whatever he pleases, which is very little, especially when his glasses fog up. If Akashi was here, well, there would be a lot they could do (Midorima thinks about the two of them in [yukata], Akashi’s bedroom and the traditional floor, their bodies all clean until they weren’t, Akashi’s fingers inside him and Akashi’s mouth around his cock, tasting his come on Akashi’s lips and deciding that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take another bath).  
  
Thinking about that makes Midorima’s cock ache; he looks down but can’t see much through the steam and then reaches. Too close to totally hard—this is probably against the rules, but there’s no one here (and Akashi had mentioned that maybe they could do this together, after relaxing, the last time they’d been here). Midorima tugs on his cock, letting the water ease the friction of skin on skin just a little. Oh, that feels good, not as good as Akashi’s hand would, but it’ll do for the fantasy, of Akashi’s mouth on his, Akashi’s ass, plump and round between his fingers. Midorima closes his eyes; his glasses slip down on his face and he doesn’t give a damn. He reaches back with his other hand, leans forward so he can slip a finger inside of himself, crook it and try to add another, imagining it’s Akashi fingering him, him fingering Akashi. Midorima pumps his cock harder, faster; he’s shamefully hard. The water is warm and soothing, facilitating, even. God, Akashi, being inside Akashi, Akashi’s fingers pinching his nipples, Akashi palming his ass, Akashi here with him, straddling him, hips meeting hips—  
  
Miorima comes, quietly; he feels his glasses nearly slip off and leans his head back to compensate, letting the rest of his body relax and loll in the water, washing away the come from his body. He wipes off his glasses, looking down at his softening cock. If only Akashi were here, if only they could get out together and go to sleep, face to face. He could count the days left until that on his fingers but it would only make it seem longer.


	28. aokaga, fake boobs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossdressing, mild sexual content
> 
> br5

It had taken some digging to get Kagami to admit it, but when he’d said he’d always kind of wondered what Aomine would look like with boobs, well. Aomine’s never had much of an inclination toward cross dressing, but it’s not like he doesn’t understand the appeal of boobs (he’s spent much of his time in high school thinking about them, actually, though he’s not sure if he’s ready to see them on Kagami or if he’ll ever be). So here he is, in Kagami’s bedroom, getting ready for him, adjusting the fake boobs under the extra large bikini top Kagami had ordered for him. It’s actually pretty nice, some kind of strappy thing, green and orange that pops against his skin (and of course Kagami’s thought about what Aomine would look like in it, but still, he does look pretty damn good and he knows this is probably a million times better than whatever fantasies Kagami’s been jerking off to since he’d ordered it.   
  
Aomine walks over to the door (still in jeans, but hey, when’s Kagami going to be looking below his rib cage?) and opens it. “Kagami.”  
  
Kagami turns, and Aomine kind of wants to freeze the look on his face and keep it somewhere but he also forgets how to move for a second, the naked desire and something like awe, different from the way Kagami looks at him when he makes a particularly nice dunk but rooted in a similar place.  
  
“Like what you see?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kagami breathes, and Aomine struts over to him, wiggling his hips (yeah, this is pretty fucking fun).   
  
“Come to the bedroom,” he coos, pressing his chest up to Kagami’s, the feeling of the fake boobs between him and Kagami almost alien, odd to not be chest to chest.   
  
Kagami follows, and Aomine guides his hands up to squeeze the boobs (it wouuld be nice if they were real just for now so he could feel it). “That’s….weird,” says Kagami.  
  
“Have you ever squeezed anyone’s boobs before?”  
  
“Well, no,” says Kagami, squeezing them again. “But you look hot.”  
  
“I know,” says Aomine.  
  
“You don’t have to be such a dick about it,” says Kagami, leaning forward to kiss Aomine.   
  
Speaking of dicks, Aomine reaches forward to palm Kagami’s through his pants, and he’s half-hard already. Nice. Aomine tries to squeeze the fake boobs together the way girls do with their arms, but it doesn’t work; they end up folding forward and Kagami laughs.  
  
“Shut up,” says Aomine. “You still think it’s hot.”  
  
Kagami doesn’t deny it.


	29. aokaga, car bj

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oral sex in a car

This place is good enough, or as good as it’s going to get, the parking lot of a windowless movie theater when it’s late out and relatively deserted; Taiga’s got no idea when the next movie’s going to let out but they’re far enough away from any other cars that it shouldn’t be too risky. Daiki rolls down the front windows just a touch and then cuts the ignition; Taiga takes a second getting used to the silence but then Daiki turns it on again.  
  
“Gotta roll back the seat.”  
  
Okay, fair enough, but it’s not like Taiga’s fitting down there comfortably anyway. This was a fucking stupid idea; isn’t car sex supposed to happen in the backseat? Or at least the passenger’s side because there’s not brakes and a wheel and shit getting in the way.  
  
“Just lean over the console,” says Daiki. “That way I can grab your ass. This isn’t just about me feeling good, you know.”  
  
That’s a little bit contradictory, but whatever. It’s not like leaning over the console is going to be comfortable, and at any rate it’s not going to be any less conspicuous. But isn’t that part of why Daiki wants this? Taiga would be fooling himself if he pretended that’s not how Daiki loves to get his thrills, almost getting caught (though he sometimes chickens out if they get close) but still. The things Taiga does for him.  
  
“Better be grateful.”  
  
“No one I’d rather have suck me off."  
  
“…Thanks,” says Taiga, unwilling to argue more.  
  
Daiki unzips his fly, reaches into the dark fabric of his underwear to pull out his cock. Taiga looks at it for a few seconds, just sitting there; doesn’t do for Daiki to get a swelled head, but it does kind of turn Taiga on, seeing him all leaned back and relaxed, his fingers unfurled around it, a little bit bigger than average but balanced by the size of his hand. (Plus, if he waits, it might make Daiki squirm a little bit.)  
  
“Well?” says Daiki.   
  
“Good things come to those who wait,” says Taiga, and he leans across the console. “Don’t want you to be so eager you shove my ribs against the gearshift.”  
  
Daiki snorts, but that turns into a sharp intake of breath as Taiga leans over him, breathing hot against his cock (Taiga can just feel it twitch, oh, fuck).   
  
“You said something about—?”  
  
“Right, shit,” says Daiki, plunging his own hand down Taiga’s pants and squeezing his ass.


	30. haikagahimu, catboys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catboys, human/catboys in a master/pet sexual relationship
> 
> br5

“Just put on the damn collar,” says Taiga.   
  
“I had to wear it last time,” says Shougo.   
  
“Yeah, but you look good in it,” says Taiga.   
  
He looks at Shougo, the defiance in his eyes, the set of his chin, of his ears, how contrary he is for the sake of being contrarian, even when they’re both sitting in Shougo’s favorite box in the living room. Taiga sighs.   
  
“If you put on the collar, I’ll suck you off first.”  
  
“Tatsuya—”  
  
“I’ll tell him you’ve been really good for me,” says Taiga. “Now put on the collar.”  
  
“You’d better fucking follow through,” says Shougo, but he lets Taiga buckle the spiked collar around his neck.   
  
It suits him, the wild grey hair and grey eyes matching the color of the silver spikes, the whole image, of Shougo in nothing but that, gold earrings in his ears, his tail swishing. He looks so cute Taiga just wants to suck him off right there, but that’s not how they’re going about this; it’s the two of them and Tatsuya who only ever wants to play master in bed, generous with his praise and exacting with his orders (which, in this case, had included Shougo in just that collar).   
  
Tatsuya’s waiting on the bed, relaxed in his bathrobe; he smiles encouragingly at them.   
  
“How have my kitties been today?”  
  
It’s always a rhetorical question (even if Tatsuya didn’t know, it would be); they’re not going to say they've been good boys because Tatsuya’s going to tell them that anyway, stroking their hair and scratching their ears, looking them up and down with clear approval in his gaze.  
  
“You look so lovely in that collar, Shougo,” Tatsuya murmurs, reaching out to finger one of the spikes.   
  
Shougo grins, looking pretty damn smug for someone who’d just been protesting wearing the collar at all a few minutes ago. But he does look lovely; that much is definitely true.   
  
“Hello, Taiga,” Tatsuya says, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth, reaching down to finger his tail where it meets his skin, right above his ass.   
  
Taiga arches his back into the touch and mewls; he wants this so bad. He wants Tatsuya so bad; he wants Shougo so bad—and he’d promised Shougo, after all.  
  
“Shougo was pretty good about the collar,” Taiga says. “I want to suck him off.”  
  
“Good boy, Shougo,” Tatsuya says, kissing him on the forehead. “Go ahead.”


	31. momoao, lube

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, pegging

The adult toy store is a little out of Satsuki’s way, but it's her turn to buy lube and they’ve been out for a week, getting their sexual pleasure (when they’ve felt up to it) by jerking each other off while thinking about the strap-on in the nightstand drawer and the bottle of lube they’d just used up. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it’s preferable on the nights they don’t feel like preparing all that much, but when they know their options are limited it feels as if they’re missing out.   
  
Satsuki had looked over some of the other stuff in the store, things that are probably beyond where they are in the bedroom right now (though, someday, a double ended dildo would be nice) and ended up buying two bottles of lube and a pair of lacy panties she can wear around the strap-on.   
  
Dinner first, she thinks, as she steps in, but then her phone buzzes.   
  
_im in the bedroom_  
  
Yeah, okay, dinner can wait. Satsuki takes her time, putting away the groceries and fixing her hair in the hallway mirror, before she opens the door. Daiki’s lying spread out on the bed, in just underwear, not hard yet as Satsuki can see.   
  
“Eager, aren’t we?”  
  
“Don’t tell me you aren’t,” says Daiki.   
  
Satsuki sighs, throwing her work blazer into the corner of the room. She unbuttons her shirt, taking it a little slower than she wants to just go give Daiki enough of a show, sighing as she unzips her pencil skirt and peels off her stockings. Her underwear isn’t matching today, nor is there anything special about it, but she can still feel Daiki watching as she unhooks the bra and her breasts settle back into position, as she pulls down her panties and all of a sudden her bare ass is right there for him to look at.   
  
She pulls the strap-on’s harness on, adjusting it until it’s just snug enough, getting used to the feeling of it hanging between her legs. She reaches into the bag and pulls out the first bottle of lube and sits down next to Daiki on the bed, kissing him and fondling his cock through his underwear, making him feel the friction of the fabric. God, has Satsuki missed this.  
  
She inches down Daiki’s underwear until he can kick it off and spread his legs for her, show her everything. She takes a moment just to look before situating herself and uncapping the bottle of lube. They’ve waited long enough, after all.


	32. murahimu, dragon!tatsuya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> interspecies (human/dragon in human form), vaguely petplay-esque, sexual content

Himuro doesn’t have to say he’d let Murasakibara collar him. His face says it all, the smirk that plays on his lips, stuck in human form but a little more effective than when he’s a dragon, belly full of fire and tongue full of frost (Murasakibara tries not to think too much about the physics of it all; it’s easier if you just ignore it). Still, a collar that keeps a dragon in their supposedly more docile form (if Himuro’s ever docile; that thought itself is worth a few derisive snorts), a symbol of some kind of temporary submission. An uneasy truce.  
  
“What are you going to do with me?” says Himuro, trying to pull at the collar but then lowering his hand as if it had shocked him.   
  
Murasakibara shrugs. “I don’t know. What do you want me to do?”  
  
(There had to have been a reason Himuro had let him do this, after all, maybe some weird kind of sexual power dynamic.)   
  
“Your wish is my command,” says Himuro, bite and sarcasm behind it, like the center of a sharp radish.   
  
“Submit to me, then,” says Murasakibara.  
  
He’d read somewhere about submissive gestures, the various nuances of dragon culture—total submission, submission of will, submission of body, submission of spirit. Apparently since Himuro’s lying on his back he’s only willing to yield his body right now, but that’s all Murasakibara really wants, the way Himuro dangles the possibility and pulls it away before they’ve done all Murasakibara wants to, leaving him chasing once again.   
  
Himuro pulls off his shirt and arches his back, pushing his belly into the air, and Murasakibara reaches out to stroke it. Soft, softer than his dragon form’s, and when he strokes again Himuro makes a small sound in the back of his throat, closing his eye. So this is what it's about then, something they probably could have done the whole time, but maybe Himuro had needed the collar as some sort of excuse. Maybe Murasakibara shouldn’t overthink this, because there’s so much of Himuro to pay attention to. He tweaks one nipple, strokes a finger down the sternum, rubs Himuro’s belly again. If he gets Himuro off like this—well, it’s not like those sounds aren’t going right to his cock, and it’s not like Dragons have a frighteningly-short bounceback time, even in human form. Murasakibara’s beginning to like this whole whatever he likes thing.


	33. kikuro, royal jelly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bee people, insect stuff, interspecies (bee person/human), mentions of egg laying

“Open wide, Kise-kun.”  
  
Kise obeys, wiggling his feelers. He’s grown so fast so strong, lately; Kuroko’s only the assistant beekeeper here but he feels a little bit proud of Kise, how far he’s come from a simple larva, wriggling about oh so prettily (and he’d known it, too). And, fully formed, there’s no reason more royal jelly won’t help him become a good queen, willing to take over or lead his flock of adoring workers to a new hive. Kise’s one of the bigger ones, but that’s what queens are; he hasn’t begun to lay his eggs yet but his abdomen is beginning to bulge, the bristles soft to Kuroko’s touch. He really is a beautiful queen, not that he needs Kuroko to tell him.  
  
Kuroko spoons the royal jelly into Kise’s mouth, watching as Kise smiles.   
  
“Kurokocchi, do you want some too?”  
  
“It’s wasted on me,” says Kuroko. “But thank you, Kise-kun.”  
  
Still, when Kise leans forward to kiss Kuroko, his antennae pushing aside Kuroko’s bangs and both sets of arms clutching at Kuroko, he lets Kuroko taste it in his mouth. Kise’s not a worker and Kuroko is no developing insect, but he appreciates the thought, the way Kise knows to show affection. It’s better than jumping on top of Kuroko, telling off Kuroko for almost squishing him even though at this size his body is far too tough for that. It’s like when he’d let Kuroko run his hands over his stinger, long and sharp, like a dagger honed against the right kind of stone, something that could pierce him through (something that will one day pierce the drones through and lay a waste of bodies in the field, something cruel the way nature always is).   
  
“You’re going to need to find a hive soon, Kise-kun.”  
  
Kise sighs "I know…but I like it right here, with you.”  
  
Kuroko smiles; Kise’s pouting in a way he seems to genuinely mean, at least a little bit. It’s cute, and maybe that’s part of the point, but that’s not going to make Kuroko yield to the way things have to be. He can travel to a new facility, a new hive; he can follow Kise. Kise can trace back the path and bring him, buzzing in the air above him, swooping down to touch his feelers to Kuroko’s forehead, where Kuroko would have them if he were a bee, and point Kuroko toward a place they can be together.


	34. akakuro, cannibalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannibalism of the living, violence/blood/gore (particularly of the eyes and mouth)
> 
> br5

It’s funny that there are only two of them and Kuroko has both; he would win by default, regardless of the recipe. He’s come a long way from only being able to boil eggs, to boiling tofu for Akashi after he’d pulled out all of his teeth, to blending smoothies for him in the blender that he can swallow down, fine food processed for a mouth like his. Kuroko supposes that he’d win by default anyway, since as always, he’s the only contestant. It’s a shame that Akashi can’t watch his victory, with the stumps of his nerves protruding from his skull, sockets empty. He’ll have to grow out his hair a little bit more.  
  
Akashi can hear the sizzle of the pan on the stove, the stir fry, half of which will be placed into the food processor for him. It has to be nice and tender first, of course, so it doesn’t get stuck in his throat; Kuroko will be sure to save the left eye for Akashi. The right eye is his, but those go in last.  
  
They are sitting, cleaned, on the counter beside him, red and yellow (changed from red and red last week again, the final straw of Akashi’s resistance). Kuroko won’t have that; he’d told Akashi enough times that the eyes go if he tries anything like that.  
  
And Akashi hadn’t listened, but that’s typical of him, always thinking he could be absolute.  
  
He doesn’t speak much anymore; perhaps his tongue should be next, since he’s not using it at all. Waste not, want not; there is so much that Kuroko wants of Akashi. Not more than he can give; Akashi is a source that can be reaped and reaped over and over. Flesh of his cheek or of his thigh, some skin raked off and fried that will regrow once the scab has healed. Blood for flavor, always replenished. He’s heard about regenerating livers, but that’s too delicate; Kuroko knows his own limits. He doesn’t want to have to sew Akashi back up, mar that gorgeous, delicious skin with an ugly scar.   
  
The stir fry is ready for the eyes; Kuroko pops them in. They are vacant now, not staring sharply as they did when they had been attached to Akashi. Such a shame, but at least they’ll be delicious, wrapped in noodles and vegetables, fried and then pureed for Akashi. Yes, this is Kuroko’s finest self-imposed Iron Chef challenge yet, if he says so himself. He smiles at the invisible audience, the arena of the kitchen. Even at Akashi; he’s earned a bit of forgiveness.


	35. himualex, blindfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, femdom, bondage

All that black nylon is so well-suited to the winter pale of Tatsuya’s skin. Alex knew it would be when she’d bought it; she knows it will because it’s the fourth time they’ve used it and still, the effect is striking. He is so lovely when he’s bound, blindfolded—some might call this overkill; he’s made himself clear that he’s hers in street clothes, in anything. She doesn’t need any reassurance to know that, but wrapping him up like a gift for herself (when this is very much a gift for him, too) is, well.   
  
She strokes his cheek. “Look at you, Tatsuya. I wish you were always this obedient.”  
  
Alex crouches down so that she’s on his level, right in front of him, staring into the blindfold, the way his hair is trapped under it against his skin. He’s smiling as she leans forward; they’re chest to chest as if they’re dancing in a club, minus the sweat and shit music and overpriced drinks, minus the ceding of control to the beat rattling their bones from the floor. Minus both of them pressing, the clothes between them. But the feeling is the same, the yearning she feels seeping through his pores instead of sweat, the yearning she has, to pull off the blindfold and ride him while he watches, to give him his way with her, to grab him and make him make her come.   
  
Tatsuya sighs, soft breath on Alex’s cheek; his want is thick in the air and Alex pulls him forward to bury his face in her breasts, teeth and tongue scraping gently at her skin, soft wet lips. His cock is up, flush against his stomach; Alex brushes one finger against it and debates doing it again when he reacts in a way that’s almost unlike him, to arch his back and lean so far into it, for his mouth to slacken against her breast.   
  
"I haven't decided what I want to do with you yet, but I know you'll take whatever I give you, won't you?”  
  
(This first part is a lie; she knows exactly what she wants—well, there are lots of things she wants, but right now the desire to sit on his face, to give him what he wants and make him come from tasting her on his tongue, all the pleasure and satisfaction that gives both of them, untying his hands and having him finger her afterwards while his whole body’s still tender—and, well, she’ll let him know soon enough.)


	36. aoaka, king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, blood, sex as power, domination

“If you want so badly to be on your knees, I will not stop you,” Akashi says, lip curling into a sneer, so beautiful, imperial, saying know your place. “Will I have to fuck it out of you?”  
  
“You are a fool, o king,” Aomine sneers back, spitting the words through his lips until Akashi laughs.  
  
And then Akashi kisses him, kisses the blood from his lips, sweet processed sugar and delicate almond on Akashi’s mouth, the food of a noble, a king who demands blood but is so far from it himself, moving everyone like pieces on his fucking shogi board. Aomine would like to see him try to fuck it out of him, but either way the sex will be good.  
  
Aomine had no idea his own body could bend like that, lithe under Akashi’s touch, moving under the scrape of Akashi’s nails, short but sharp, filed down correctly, not cutting but leaving marks that might bruise. Akashi doesn’t bite; it’s not dignified, probably, but he does slam hard into Aomine, hard enough to feel good, hard enough to ease the ache in Aomine, to make him edge closer, closer. Akashi is merciless, except here, when he lets Aomine finish first, doesn’t keep him waiting, hits him right on the sweet spot.   
  
He pulls out and Aomine’s leaking his come and Akashi looks like he should be honored. Aomine feels sated, though, and not in any mood to bow and kneel further, just to capture Akashi’s mouth in another kiss, one that Akashi lets him take.  
  
*  
  
He has been waiting so long for this, so long to just reach out and do it, close his hands around Akashi’s throat. It almost feels unreal to be out of the dungeons, his skin sickly and his hair overgrown, his body too thin but still strong, strong enough to smother him, show him, king or no—  
  
“Let go.”  
  
He cannot help but obey his king, as he commands him to walk toward the door, to get on his knees, to crawl, as if he’s half in a trance, like a marionette with someone else jerking on the strings to make him move. Only Akashi hasn’t lifted a finger; he bends so elegantly down to meet Aomine’s mouth. Like a king, the lord Aomine’s been sworn to, the one he can’t escape.  
  
He is lost in the blood and salt of Akashi’s kiss again, and he no longer wants to.


	37. kagahimu, praise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild sexual content
> 
> br6

Feeling anything lets Taiga feel too much, which is why he feels everything. Why should he try to keep it in touch any longer, when he can’t, when it’s already flooding forth from his wells, from a constant typhoon inside him of everything about Tatsuya? Tatsuya’s kind smile, Tatsuya’s fingers warm on his bare shoulder, Tatsuya’s beautiful face, those plump lips Taiga can just imagine on his cock (in his most shameless of moments, right before he comes when he’s trying to think about the actors in the porno he’s watching but they can never quite get him off). Tatsuya, who he loves in every way (friends, brothers, like a lover if Tatsuya would only let him).  
  
And then Tatsuya does let him, follows him down into bed one night, after a victory, after it’s easy to blur the lines and forget that Tatsuya’s still in college playing college ball and Taiga’s a pro, and all the careful ways that nip and bite at their dynamic, the imbalances that throw them off even now after having to deal with them for so long (and in a way that means they’ll probably have to deal with them forever). But it’s okay; it’s a worthy price to pay, demon to grapple with, if it means they’re okay with each other.  
  
And if it means this, too, Taiga whispering every word of praise, beautiful wonderful lovely amazing gorgeous so good, into Tatsuya’s ears, some of which he accepts a little easier than others, that’s a bonus, like a two hundred percent salary bonus, the reciprocated desire for each other’s bodies, the intimacy that comes during and especially after. Tatsuya's hair off his forehead, his gorgeous face covered in sweat like they’ve just finished an hourlong one on one. The way his body curls around Taiga’s and they speak in mingling hoarse whispers, kisses exchanged between words, Tatsuya initiating just as often as Taiga does. The crumbling facade, the glass around Tatsuya’s heart turning to glittery dust. The feeling that Taiga can’t help but let everything spill, but wanting to take things so slow (like the first time they’d had sex, like Taiga wanting to rush and go fast and make Tatsuya come and see everything, but wanting to do everything slow and deliberate because he wants to make it last; they only get one first time and he wants it to be special, even though everything with them is special to him).   
  
For now he pulls Tatsuya closer, slowly, kisses him slower until he feels Tatsuya sigh and melt against him, like ice to cool water.


	38. aohimu, stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk sex
> 
> br6

The first time Daiki stays is kind of an accident; he’s drunk off his ass and sloppier than usual, biting at Tatsuya’s neck and missing, teeth snapping against the air, jerking the both off with an uneven hand; he comes but Tatsuya’s too sober and ends up finishing himself while Daiki’s snoring next to him, wondering if he should take a picture because that’s the way Daiki always likes to see him, covered in come, but then again, they’re not close enough to send each other things, to pretend this is anything when they haven’t happened to be in the same place at the same time.   
  
It’s probably the last time, or maybe it’s too much and it’s broken everything and it’s the last of all, and what a way to end it, but that’s typical. Tatsuya can’t even lie to himself and say that’s why it’s disappointing that it’s the last time.  
  
Daiki’s up before he is, not hungover in the slightest (fuck him, seriously—Tatsuya rarely gets drunk enough for hangovers, but if he’d been that drunk, yeah). He’s sitting in the kitchen, drinking water from the pitcher in the fridge.  
  
“I hope that means you’re washing it,” says Tatsuya, searching for some orange juice for himself.   
  
“I’m your guest,” says Daiki.  
  
Tatsuya's about to say something about not remembering to invite him, but his mouth goes dry.  
  
“Give me some of that.”  
  
He takes the pitcher and drinks some from the side, spilling water over his mouth and the top of his shirt. Daiki wiggles his eyebrows.  
  
“Did you finish last night?”  
  
“No thanks to you.”  
  
“Shit. Sorry,” says Daiki. “Let me make it up to you. Give you a blow job or something.”  
  
“Not with your mouth that dry and full of stale alcohol,” says Tatsuya.  
  
“Okay,” says Daiki. “I’ll give you a rain check.”  
  
“Generous,” says Tatsuya, before he realizes this is the first time they’ve talked about a future, that they’re sitting in his kitchen drinking water straight from the kitchen and sort of talking about a future, and this isn’t the type of thing that means dates and emotions (that his emotions are anywhere near appropriate for the situation) and anything of that sort.  
  
Daiki leans over to kiss him, then, soft and quick, before he chugs the rest of the water, and Tatsuya tells himself to stop dwelling. That this means very little, close to nothing. But looking at Daiki’s face, it gets harder to say.


	39. garciraki, spy au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild sexual content
> 
> br6

Masako doesn’t have to wait very long for Alex to find her, once she’s done. She’d caught Alex’s eye briefly, earlier, Alex giving her that look that says what she wants to do in no uncertain terms and, well, it had been something to look forward to. It hadn’t made Masako rush the job, but she’d gotten it done in less time than she’d allocated and, well. They’re not totally unrelated. She’s still pretending to observe the grounds before Alex meets her on the balcony, the telltale sound of her footsteps, unique like the way she opens the door.  
  
"Have I mentioned, lately, how beautiful you are?" Alex asks (direct, Masako can appreciate it).  
  
Masako smiles, her own return greeting. Her job isn’t dependent on being beautiful; before Alex it’s not something she’d considered as much of an advantage most of the time, but she wouldn’t mind if Alex kept telling her every time they met up.  
  
"Are you done with work?"   
  
"For the night," Masako says, pulling Alex in and wrapping an arm around her waist (she’s wearing higher heels; the difference between their heights is measurably less than usual and quite enjoyable. "The rest of my time tonight is yours.”  
  
She lets her gaze linger on Alex’s plunging neckline (talk about looking beautiful); there are times when subtlety is necessary and times like now when Masako is quite happy to throw it out the window. Her hand drops down, to cup the curve of Alex’s ass through that tight, tight dress, and Alex leans in closer. They can make it to a more appropriate place in five minutes, but right now that seems like five minutes too long.   
  
Four and a half too long, since Masako’s driver knows which red lights to run on the way back to the safehouse, and though Masako would never do something like that in front of an employee it’s okay to at least run her hand up Alex’s thigh, considering how short her dress is.  
  
The door's barely locked and the room’s barely scanned before her hand’s up Alex’s dress, grasping at her ass (she’d gone commando tonight, fucking tease) and Alex is already undoing Masako’s zipper, letting the damn thing fall away and leaving her in just underwear and jewelry. She yelps when Alex picks her up and carries her to bed, places her down like a fucking princess and then kneels between her legs, nosing at her through her panties (they’re already getting wet, God).   
  
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” Alex says, tonguing Masako’s clit through the fabric, and fuck, she’s acting like she has.   
  
“I hope you thought about it in detail,” says Masako, sucking in her breath again as Alex’s teeth scrape over the inside of her thigh.  
  
“Yeah, I did. Exactly like this.”


	40. murahimu, inexperience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anal fingering, implied underage
> 
> br6

Atsushi will freely admit he knows very little about sex, only what he’s seen in porn, which he’s heard time and again isn’t realistic (and he hopes it is; even though the participants act like they’re having fun it doesn’t seem like something he’d enjoy). He’s not going to say all of that to Tatsuya, just that he doesn’t know what to do.  
  
“What now?” he says, and Tatsuya swallows down his cock, and he knows a little more. “What now?” and Tatsuya guides him into giving like he gets, keeping his mouth occupied with Tatsuya’s body.  
  
“What now?” he doesn’t say this time, because Tatsuya’s already anticipating, lubing up his own fingers and then Atsushi’s.   
  
Atsushi swallows; the thought that this is really doing something to Tatsuya—something Tatsuya’s never done to him, something neither of them has ever expressed much of a desire for, something Atsushi’s never really gotten far with trying on himself. Something he’s so clearly comfortable with already as he sticks one finger into himself, and then another, sliding them around inside like he’s used to it, and Atsushi’s chest feels sticky and warm inside like hot maple syrup. Tatsuya’s always pretty, but he looks even more gorgeous when his eyes are closed, lips falling open in the pleasure he’s giving himself.  
  
“Your turn,” Tatsuya says. “One first.”  
  
Atsushi’s finger slips inside of Tatsuya easier than he’d been expecting, feeling his way around, crooking against the inside of him. Tatsuya’s looking down at him, like he’s in control of the situation, not like he’s abandoned all of that in his pleasure. Not like before, and Atsushi’s not going to let himself come up short, plunging his finger in deeper; he can feel Tatsuya’s body shudder around him.  
  
“Ah—Atsushi, that’s…”  
  
Atsushi pulls his finger back; Tatsuya’s still slick and easy around him.  
  
“So good,” Tatsuya whispers.   
  
That’s all Atsushi needs to work his finger out and in, try to build up a rhythm, try to get Tatsuya back in that state of pleasure.  
  
“More?” says Atsushi.  
  
“More,” says Tatsuya. “I want another.”  
  
Atsushi hasn’t really been thinking about his cock at all, but he’s getting pretty hard, especially when Tatsuya’s letting himself be this blatantly demanding. It looks nice on him (not that anything won’t); it’s even better when Atsushi slides in another finger and Tatsuya gasps. He’s tight; Atsushi supposes his fingers are thicker but he doesn’t really know that much about loosening Tatsuya up, if this is what he should be doing.  
  
“What now?” he says, sliding both in and out again.  
  
“Keep going,” Tatsuya says, trying to meet Atsushi, coming down on his fingers. “I want to come with three fingers in me.”  
  
Atsushi’s probably going to come without touching his cock.


	41. murahimu, movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semi-public sex

They are not here because Murasakibara took Kagami’s bait. They’re here because they want to be, although it’s hard to say they really do when neither he nor Himuro is actually enjoying the movie all that much. There’s a reason it’s been out for a month and they hadn’t seen it (well, multiple reasons); Murasakibara is contemplating walking out and cutting their losses. They could go to a restaurant or a cafe or something; they could—touch each other in here, okay.  
  
Himuro’s hand slides up Murasakibara’s thigh; they’re all the way in the back of the theater (mostly because they’re too damn tall) and anyone could come in late and see them (come sit in their now-empty row); the theater staff could come in to check on something. Murasakibara pauses in chewing on the chip but then does nothing, and Himuro continues. It’s better than the movie, something to think about, the deftness of Himuro’s fingers on the seam of his jeans, finger over finger to his fly, pressing down enough for Murasakibara’s cock to get the message that this is absolutely no accident, especially not when he starts to rub back and forth. Murasakibara shifts in his chair, letting the empty bag of chips fall from his fingers, slumping down so his hips meet Himuro’s fingers, his cock swelling and pushing, tenting his jeans to meet them, greedy and wanting.   
  
“Muro-chin.”  
  
Himuro’s already making his way down the seems again and Murasakibara has to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the loss of sensation; he spreads his thighs but even the touches there aren’t enough. And then Himuro’s hands are making their way back up, unbuckling his belt slowly and silently, undoing his fly, reaching into his underwear and beginning to jerk on his cock, lazily at first like it’s Sunday morning and they’re in Murasakibara’s dorm bed, stuffed in next to the wall (and, well, they have just about as much room here). Murasakibara jerks his hips up, lets his head loll, and oh, boy, Himuro’s working quickly, and all of a sudden Murasakibara feels himself leaking precome and he’s not about to come in his pants because holy shit, they’re in a fucking movie theater. His eyes jerk open and he grabs Himuro’s hand, stopping it.   
  
Something on the screen explodes, filling the theater with white light, illuminating the absolutely evil smile on Himuro’s face, and if Murasakibara weren’t so interested in keeping himself at bay he’d tell Himuro not to look so damn smug, but then Himuro’s lifting the armrest and ducking his head and, fuck.   
  
His lips don’t look as covered in come as they should when he sits up, but Murasakibara can taste himself when he licks Himuro clean and, well. The problem now is that they still have half a movie left.


	42. murahimu, rimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exactly what the title says

Atsushi loves eating Tatsuya out. Sure, all sex is good and fun, especially with Tatsuya, but this is on a level all of its own. Particularly right now, when Tatsuya’s still trying to focus, his words fuzzing like a low bandwidth video because he’s still in the aftermath of his orgasm. He’d come second, but that meant Atsushi could watch him while fighting off his own aftermath and that had been glorious, Tatsuya letting go of the remnants of control and having nothing but pure pleasure left in him, running on empty except he’s so full of it.   
  
And when he’s still trying to deal with it and collect himself, that’s Atsushi’s favorite time to make him come undone all over again., to eat him out and make his head loll, make his breath turn short and mix with his slurred words. He’s biting Tatsuya’s thighs, licking his balls, keeping him from really coming down, when he’s most sensitive, and Tatsuya’s still responding, and goddamn.   
  
“Can I?” Atsushi asks, because even though Tatsuya loves it he loves being the one to decide, too; it gives him more of a sense of control, however illusory, however much he falls to pieces under Atsushi’s mouth. “Please?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Atsushi licks backwards, over the come and lube smeared sloppy (because he likes it even more when Tatsuya lets him get away with this, and Tatsuya loves to spoil him, which—you can say it like it’s a bad thing but it really, really isn’t, at least as far as Atsushi’s concerned). He pokes his tongue inside of Tatsuya, still stretched open, tasting the lube and come inside. It slides half-sticky over his tongue, gives him easier access to farther inside of Tatsuya, sooner. He tastes filthy, like sex, like Atsushi’s already left his mark; above him Tatsuya whimpers and then he clenches around Atsushi’s tongue.   
  
Tatsuya sighs his name, and Atsushi flicks his tongue in and out faster. Because as much as he likes it, as much as he enjoys the feeling of dragging his tongue through, well. He really likes knowing that this kind of self-indulgence makes Tatsuya come, too. It’s nice having this power over him; it’s nice that he’s the one to make Tatsuya’s body do all of this; he can tell from teh way Tatsuya’s shifting around above him that his cock’s probably already leaking. That he’s already close. Just as soon he comes with a shout, all over his own stomach, a perfect mess.


	43. murahimu, monstersex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> human/monster sex (i think the fic i remixed was based on a zelda game?), size difference
> 
> br6

Tatsuya’s heard the rumors, of course. The Prince of the Zora, twice the size of a man, nearly twice the size of even a tall man like Tatsuya. Tatsuya’s used to looking up at Taiga, taller than him climbing faster than him, but this is different. A steady sort of angle, one that has always been there, as if Atsushi had sprung full-formed out of the earth. And Tatsuya has listened to him, attempted to help him out of no real ulterior motive. Sure, he’s heard the rumors and he’s wondered if they’re true, but Atsushi’s got no reason to be interested in a Hylian like Tatsuya.   
  
Of course, that doesn’t mean Tatsuya’s not going to try, and, well, his charms have always worked on the people around him. He’s not all too surprised they work on Atsushi, too. And if he gets into the Prince of the Zora’s bed to see it for himself, well, all the better.   
  
It’s momentarily apparent that yes, his teeth are sharp and god those bites hurt and throb in the best kind of way, but there’s no pleasure venom he releases (all the pleasures the same as a human who bites hard enough to break the skin). And yes, he’s got two retracting dicks and they’re fucking huge, each as big as Tatsuya’s forearms, and even Tatsuya gies them a long, appreciative look (and for the moment he feels a bit inadequate in comparison, but then Atsushi’s giant thumb brushes over Tatsuya’s cock and, well.   
  
“Fuck,” Tatsuya breathes.   
  
Atsushi’s scales are rough against him, scraping pleasantly on his skin like blunt edges of teeth, a wool blanket in winter. Tatsuya leans into it, rubbing his hands up and down Atsushi’s cocks. They get slick with precome awfully quickly, and Tatsuya knows he’s good but he’s not that good. The claws on Atsushi’s foot are digging into the side of Tatsuya’s leg; it hurts in the best kind of way. It’s almost like Atsushi knows what he wants, the pleasure from pain, or maybe to someone like him Tatsuya’s terribly obvious.  
  
Right now, though, it’s more than obvious what Atsushi wants, and Tatsuya’s hands pick up faster. There’s no way he could fit even the head of one of those cocks in his mouth, but he can kiss over the ends and make those great hips jerk up, against his cheek, smearing the side of his face and hair with precome, and then—both of Atsushi’s cocks come at once, splattering all of Tatsuya’s upper body with his come; he himself is still a ways away but Atsushi’s claw is stroking gently, even as he comes down, and Tatsuya’s pretty sure this is way too good to be true.


	44. aokagahimu, greedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> threesome that's a 2+1, sexual content

Daiki’s surprised Taiga had held out this long. The walls here are fucking thin; he’d once woken up in the middle of the night to hear Taiga jerking off like he was right next to him, saying Tatsuya’s name like it’s the most precious thing on earth. Daiki knows sharing Tatsuya with Taiga isn't like sharing him with anyone else, because of the way things are and were and will be between Tatsuya and Taiga, but that’s okay. He’s never seen their relationship like this from the inside (and this isn’t even the real inside, but the closest he’s ever gotten) and he’s kind of fascinated and more than a little turned on.   
  
“C’mere,” Daiki says, scooting over on the bed to make room for Taiga, pulling his fingers out of Tatsuya.  
  
Tatsuya whines, and Daiki tilts his head up to kiss the sound from Tatsuya’s lips (God, he’s so hot when he’s greedy, when he wants; Daiki wonders if he’ll let both of them finger him together—maybe not tonight, maybe if there’s a next night which there fucking better be). Taiga settles himself on the bed, nearly falling off because he’s looking at Tatsuya; he’s still wearing pants what the fuck and Daiki pulls them down. His cock is soft; Daiki’s never gotten much of a good look at it first, but.  
  
“Looks like you’d fit real good inside Tatsuya, huh?”  
  
Taiga bites his lip and Tatsuya scoots closer, straddling Taiga’s knees and then shimmying up, bare ass on Tatsuya’s bare things. “Please, Taiga.”  
  
He’s half-hard; Daiki reaches over to tug him the rest of the way and motions for Taiga to fucking start already, and finally Taiga realizes that this isn’t some weird fever dream and he’s actually here, and looks around for the lube. Daiki watches as he squirts some on his hand, spreading it by jerking his own cock a few times, and then Tatsuya raises his ass in the air and Taiga slips one finger inside. Tatsuya’s already stretched, and he rides it hard; it’s not enough and all too soon Taiga’s at three, crooking and wiggling them as Tatsuya does all the work, slamming himself down, murmuring Taiga’s name, and fuck. It should be embarrassing that it’s enough to get Daiki off almost by itself, except, you know. Not really.   
  
Because Tatsuya gets off fucking himself on Taiga’s fingers, and Taiga comes before Tatsuya can even touch him more than a few times, and okay, yeah there fucking better be a next time.


	45. murahimu, terrarium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plant people, plant/human sex
> 
> br6

The plants shift as Atsushi opens the door and walks into the terrarium, bringing with him a distinct humanness that even Tatsuya doesn’t quite have. Because Tatsuya’s one of them, letting the roots on the bottom of his feet grow into the ground, his leaves perking up the longer he spends time in the humidity, the light coming from the UV bulbs from all sides. He hears Atsushi’s quiet approach, and then Atsushi pours water at his feet, his roots sucking it up greedily as he opens up his body.   
  
“You smell nice,” says Atsushi, and it’s all the sap all around them, the energy his body feeds off his plants that says pollinate, pollinate, the buds on the end of his vines shaped in bulbs, yet to unfurl—but, well, Atsushi can help with that a little bit, make him feel like he’s taking care of that well enough to fool his body.  
  
Tatsuya brushes a vine across Atsushi’s face, and then more under Atsushi’s clothes; just thinking about sex makes his body want release right now, and it’s still a ways away from the worst part. Atsushi gets the hint, pulling off all of his clothes, and, well. There’s a lot of him and a lot of opportunity, to stroke his cock and brush his chest and thighs, motions that send currents right back to Tatsuya’s own cock. Atsushi’s looking for a leaf and he finds one covered in sap, coats his fingers in the stuff and presses one into Tatsuya, and fuck. It slides easily inside, sticky and smooth, and then Atsushi adds another, Tatsuya already rocking himself back and forth on the feeling. Tatsuya’s trying to build up a rhythm on his own cock, but it’s getting difficult with all the stimulation, but then Atsushi takes over, stroking him until his hand’s covered in sticky, sappy precome (Tatsuya hates how easy he is like this, even when it’s obvious Atsushi loves it).  
  
Atsushi licks it from his fingers until they’re clean; he adds another inside of Tatsuya and shit that feels good.   
  
“Gimme more.”  
  
Tatsuya lifts another vine, a blossom that’s close, sap covering the end, and Atsushi begins to suck; the sound and the feeling is pushing Tatsuya over the edge. And then Atsushi takes out his fingers, moving closer so he can stick his cock inside of Tatsuya, and that’s just about enough. Tatsuya shakes when he comes, collapsing forward into Atsushi’s arms. God, he can’t wait until he can get out of the terrarium again.


	46. kagahimu, ex porn actor tatsuya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oral sex, brief discussion of porn industry and underage sex

Immediately after, Tatsuya had decided his brief foray into the porn industry had been a bad idea. For one, he’d been underage and it had been pretty illegal—sure, he’d had a fairly easy time of it, and he’d made enough money that he wouldn’t have to worry about college and even grad school if he wanted it some day, but knowing his luck he’d get interviewed by someone who had trawled the bowels of the internet for porn, seen him, and decided that hiring a former porn actor would not be the best course of action. And considering the profession he’d chosen, full of people who loved to dig up dirt on other people, well. Maybe it’s only a matter of time.  
  
On the other hand, considering this brand new information—Taiga, seeing that video and wanting him, somehow having kept it a secret, Taiga who had watched it maybe religiously (is it bad that Tatsuya hopes it’s his favorite? It’s the only one he’d chosen to bookmark it, although he hadn't taken the time to download it) and Taiga who wants him now, still. Considering this brand new information, and the fact that Taiga’s cock is now inches from his mouth and all of this is very intentional, maybe it had been a nice long-term investment.  
  
Tatsuya unzips Taiga’s fly, pulls his pants and boxers down, and fuck yeah, it had been a very worthwhile investment. Seeing Taiga’s cock tent in his pants before had been something (and Tatsuya’s seen Taiga naked countless times before, even if he’d tried not to look too closely) but seeing it like this, rock hard just for him, almost makes Tatsuya want to hump Taiga’s leg from where he is on the floor. But taking care of Taiga is the priority here, and Tatsuya wouldn't say he’s very eager to show Taiga what he’s learned, but.  
  
He swallows Taiga’s cock in, almost all the way to the back of his throat in one go, nice and easy; Taiga jerks his hips and moans. Tatsuya would murmur that he’s being a good boy, but it’s been a while since his mouth has been this full, so he tongues over the head and up and down the shaft instead. Taiga’s already suckin in his breath and then letting it stay ragged, like he’s already winded, scooting forward on the couch.   
  
“Fuck—Tatsuya!”   
  
Tatsuya flicks his tongue against the tip, and then sucks, hollowing his cheeks, tilting his head so that Taiga can get a better look, and Taiga’s hand shakes as it takes a hold of Tatsuya’s hair. Taiga’s not going to last long, but that’s okay; they’ll have time later for Tatsuya to show him everything else.


	47. kagahimu, sleepy/stoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drug use (marijuana), sexual content, stoned sex

Whoever said being stoned killed your boner never met Taiga. Which is good, because Tatsuya wouldn’t want them to take Taiga from him, which he hasn’t realized he’s said out loud until Taiga reaches for him and plants a sloppy kiss on his mouth. Tatsuya can smell the weed clinging to his breath and curls his toes against Taiga’s calves under the covers; Taiga laughs but it turns into a cough and then a different kind of noise.  
  
“Your feet are cold, what the fuck.”  
  
“You said that last time,” says Tatsuya, rolling over to butt his head against Taiga’s shoulder.  
  
He doesn’t really have a boner right now but he’s kind of horny; truthfully he loves this kind of sleepy stoned sex much better than when they’re completely with it; there’s always an element of adventure and it’s always a slow build, a good kind of burn like lying on the carpet and slowly scraping his back across it (also while stoned, okay), the kind of sensation that really scratches at his itches, Taiga kissing all over his face and neck, biting by accident, the near snap of his teeth and the sudden clarity of the yelp that Tatsuya makes, like lifting his head above water only to be shoved back down.   
  
“Shit, sorry,” says Taiga.  
  
“Sin,” says Tatsuya, and almost giggles to himself.   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” says Taiga. “Not cute.”  
  
Tatsuya hums and spreads his legs, hoping Taiga’s going to get the message, that what he really wants is for Taiga to palm him through his underwear and jerk him off until his hand’s all covered in come, gross and warm and sticky—or maybe Taiga will give him head, but not if his teeth are going to do that thing. Maybe it can be like that time where Taiga had eaten a whole pan worth of pot brownies and had just sat there holding Tatsuya’s dick in his hand, not even palming it but kissing it and rubbing it against his face until Tatsuya had come on him. The thought of that is making his cock twitch right now, and he’s sick of Taiga not getting the hint; Tatsuya takes Taiga’s cock in his hand and shoves it down under the waistband of his boxers.  
  
“Oh,” says Taiga, blinking.  
  
And then he starts jerking slow and lazy, and Tatsuya twists around, relaxing back against his chest, closing his eyes and relaxing into the sweet and gradual build.


	48. kagahimu, booty shorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content
> 
> br6

“Oh,” Taiga says, or at least that’s what Tatsuya thinks he’s saying into his hands, but either way the message is pretty clear; he’s finally getting it (and all it had taken was walking toward him in booty shorts, and then a few minutes after that, but Tatsuya supposes he really shouldn’t complain because Taiga’s melting under his touch right about now, and it’s well worth the wait).   
  
Taiga leans back in his seat and Tatsuya takes it as an invitation to climb up into his lap and straddle him, jerk his hips so his crotch is grinding up against Taiga’s and he’s quite aware that Taiga’s already popping a boner and how tight his shorts are, but still, holy shit. It courses through him like the aftershock of an earthquake, and it’s pretty fucking fantastic, what with Taiga trembling beneath him, his face turning redder, more like his hair than a tomato or a strawberry, and Tatsuya wonders if he could fuck Taiga right now—not in this position, but. (Also, neither of them is going to last that long and they don’t have lube.) Tatsuya guides Taiga’s hand down his stomach, to cover his cock under those shorts, moaning in appreciation as Taiga starts to grope at it, and then brings his other hand up to reach under the hemline to get at Tatsuya’s bare ass, and that’s what Tatsuya’s talking about.  
  
“Taiga, Taiga, oh…”  
  
He feels Taiga shudder against him, bucking his hips, and Tatsuya very hastily undoes Taiga’s fly, motioning for Taiga to do the same with him. It takes him a few tries, and then he tugs Tatsuya’s cock out and just stares at it for a solid moment. Like he wants to go down on Tatsuya right this moment, and, hey, that's a nice thought, but.   
  
“Taiga,” Tatsuya says, softer, kissing him, biting his lip and tracing his tongue over Taiga’s front teeth.  
  
“Right,” Taiga says, voice actually pretty steady. “Right.”  
  
He comes first but as Tatsuya makes a move to finish himself, Taiga makes a whining sort of noise, cutting him off and moving his hand aside, doing it for him, building fast and sloppy and it still feels like too soon when Tatsuya comes, even as he watches himself spill all over Taiga’s hand. And even though they’ve both come, Taiga is still staring at him in wonder, replacing the burning desire in Tatsuya with a gentler sort of warmth he can’t keep at bay any better.


	49. garciraki, demon/human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> demon/human sex, religion
> 
> br6

The problem with fucking a demon as an exorcism is, well, once Masako fucks her she’s going to leave. Except that’s the whole point, and not a problem at all, and they’ve barely met and Masako isn’t attached. It would just be nice to have her stick around a little bit longer, fuck her again, although that’s what a succubus is supposed to make you feel, Masako supposes. Desire. And boy, is she feeling it now, from between the demon’s legs, keeping them spread apart with her shoulders, one finger slipped inside of her.  
  
Alex is already wet, unsurprisingly, and she’s so hot inside; Masako adds another finger quickly, pushing in and out. Alex groans appreciatively and her voice breaks when Masako’s lips ghost over her clit. She wonders if Alex will disappear once she comes or if she’ll get the opportunity to have Alex get her off, too. She thinks about a few slightly less traditional sexual positions and sighs, but really, this is probably the best way. Definitely the best angle for hearing Alex moan again, adding a third finger and beginning to lick across her clit in rhythm. Masako can feel herself getting wetter, too, suddenly glad Alex had made her take off all of her clothes.  
  
“Is this good for you, Masako?” Alex asks, then sighing when Masako crooks one finger inside of her, just deep enough.   
  
She comes with a sharp gasp, spilling and clenching around Masako again and again, around the air as Masako pulls out her fingers. She hasn’t disappeared yet, so that’s the answer to that question—maybe there’s just a question of sexual satisfaction; maybe Alex can’t quite feel sated unless she’s had three orgasms or something. She bows her head lower and begins to lick inside of Alex, pressing the top of her tongue to Alex’s clit and then her top lip when she can’t quite reach because she’s rolling her tongue inside of Alex. She’s still warm, no longer clenching and fluttering, but Masako builds her back up, lapping at the wetness, licking her inside out. Alex comes again when Masako’s blood is pounding in her ears, like she’s craving Alex’s touch.  
  
“Come here,” Alex says, and pulls her up, kissing her and in one hand already moving down to waste no time in finding its way inside Masako.  
  
“Took you long enough,” says Masako.  
  
When she wakes up, Alex is gone but the feeling of satiation remains for a good while.


	50. imakiyohana, spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> body horror, decay, cruelty, implied character death
> 
> br7

One morning instead of lively crawling inside of his chest, Makoto only feels twitching. No soft fur of the spider inside against the chambers of his heart, the inside of his skin. He closes his eyes and thinks back to the previous night, the way Teppei had slammed to the mattress and Shouichi had whispered that hey, he could really hurt something, you know, and the insides of Makoto’s eyelids begin to feel like they’re boats in the ocean that have sprung leaks. He pinches the bridge of his nose and snarls.  
  
“Spiders have short lifespans, you know,” Shouichi had said, once, voice as slick as oil on the surface of the ocean, but the symbiotic ones spinning their silk to hold Makoto’s insides together, constrict his lungs and embed deep patterns in them like tattoos—they live longer, but not long enough.   
  
“I wonder if it laid eggs inside of you before it died,” says Teppei, the smile curving his teeth.  
  
Makoto grinds his teeth together; the spider has been still for days; sometimes when he exhales he can feel a leg against his lung, or perhaps that’s just his imagination. "It's your goddamn fault.”  
  
All dead things rot, but when they are surrounded by life, by Makoto’s beating heart, lungs misshapen to fill the outlines of spider silk, well. None of them had thought that far ahead, though they’re not stupid. At least, if Shouichi or Teppei had thought ahead, they won’t say, which is even worse. But he can feel it as it comes, smell the rot and decomposition like a garbage heap from inside of him. If there are eggs, they will not scatter inside of him and grow unless they attach themselves to blood vessels, overly-large parasites to block his veins and burst through his skin. He wears too much cologne and extra layers of clothing, not that it helps.  
  
“You smell like shit,” says Teppei, leaning in to kiss him.   
  
“That’s you you’re smelling,” says Makoto, drawing back.  
  
He wakes up seeing spots because he can’t breathe, Teppei and Shouichi on either side of him, relaxed and sleep. He’s gagging on the smell, choking it inside, can’t choke out the words that it’s all Teppei and Shouichi’s fault. They killed the spider; they are the ones who had caused it to rot, spreading decomposition from the inside out of him. It’s all their fault; it’s all their fault; he repeats it in his head more than he can breathe.


	51. kagahimu, phone sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phone sex operator, voyeurism, sexual content
> 
> br7

Tatsuya doesn’t need the cash, but he pretends like he does when a customer asks. He’s just a poor kid trying to make ends meet any way he can; he’s got two other jobs; he makes his voice as honey sweet as he can and next to him Taiga’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. Tatsuya tries to give him a reproachful look, because he’d better not make any noise, because he’s sure there are some people like that, to whom this is just a way to get a little farther ahead with loans or some beer money they wouldn’t otherwise have. To them, though, this is a way to get off, a way of inviting a third person in without having to venture deep into the thorns of fucking up friendships with people they already know or all that comes with soliciting a random person for a threesome. And it’s still just the two of them, here, in bed, the phone in Tatsuya’s hand and the covers bunched around them, Taiga’s soft cock peeking out of his boxers. Tatsuya reaches over to kiss him as the phone rings.  
  
“Good afternoon,” Tatsuya says. “This is T at Hot Operater. How can I be of service?”  
  
“What are you wearing?” says a voice, a raspy man.  
  
Tatsuya looks down at his tank top and flannel underwear, both of which are riddled with holes. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing first? Where you want us to be?”  
  
“I want you as you are, sweet cheeks.”  
  
“I’m in bed," says Tatsuya. “Waiting for you, just in my underwear.”  
  
“Black briefs?”   
  
“Black briefs,” Tatsuya echoes.  
  
Taiga’s hand moves down the flat of his stomach to his cock, fingers reaching into his boxers and pulling it out, gathering loosely around it, still soft in his hand.  
  
“I’m wearing a white t-shirt, jeans and a brown leather belt. Snow boots,” says the person on the other end.  
  
“Mm,” says Tatsuya, as Taiga strokes the tip of his cock. “Good. How about if I were to step towards you, my fingers slipping under the hem of your t-shirt? Would you want that?”  
  
A laugh, low, the sound of a belt and a zipper in the background. “Yeah, baby. Then I push you back down on the bed. I’m stronger than you.”  
  
“Yes, so strong,” Tatsuya repeats. “I love it when you shove me around.”  
  
His gaze flickers to Taiga’s face. Taiga meets his gaze, steady, and in the periphery of Tatsuya’s vision he can see as Taiga jerks on his cock, getting himself hard. Tatsuya licks his lips; they’ve only just started and he can’t wait.


	52. nijihimu, inexperience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, underage
> 
> br7

Shuuzou’s pants are halfway down his legs and Tatsuya’s straddling his hips; his underwear suddenly feels very thin and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands and he really ought to say something at this point.  
  
“Tatsuya—I haven’t done this—before, I mean.”  
  
Tatsuya pauses, scooting back on Shuuzou’s legs to face him properly, looking from the high angle just as good as he does when they’re face to face and this is doing nothing to help Shuuzou’s current state of agitation.   
  
“Do you not want to?” Tatsuya says.  
  
“No, I do; I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing. With any of this.”  
  
“Shuu,” says Tatsuya, softly, the fond sort of smile he always tries to hide twisting up at his lips like a piece of paper caught in a storm drain. “You’re sixteen. I’m not with you because I think you’re worldly and experienced.”  
  
(Shuuzou can think of a few arguments to that, like how Tatsuya’s still fifteen and clearly well-practiced and definitely knows what he’s doing, but that’s beside the point and he doesn’t want to fall short of expectations; he wants to give Tatsuya the best.)  
  
“Let me show you,” Tatsuya says. “You’ll catch on quickly.”  
  
And Shuuzou’s never had a problem thus far placing himself in Tatsuya’s hands; maybe he’s far too reckless but he trusts Tatsuya too much not to, and Tatsuya’s never failed to deliver on anything. And, as Tatsuya slips his hand back up Shuuzou’s shirt and grinds his hips against Shuuzou’s, Shuuzou’s pretty sure Tatsuya isn’t going to fail to deliver this time, either. Shuuzou’s hips buck back up, and Tatsuya kisses him.  
  
“Good, You’re catching on—ahh.”  
  
Shuuzou’s face grows hot; he’s definitely hard now (not that he hasn’t gotten off thinking about Tatsuya before, not that Tatsuya probably doesn’t already fucking know that the way he looks at Shuuzou with something in his gaze sometimes, the way Shuuzou keeps the wrong—if not incorrect—tone of voice when he says he’s thinking about Tatsuya).   
  
“Here,” says Tatsuya, hopping off Shuuzou’s lap and situating himself between Shuuzou’s legs, and oh shit, is he?  
  
He tugs on the waistband of Shuuzou’s underwear and Shuuzou’s going to pull it down but Tatsuya shakes his head, pulling out Shuuzou’s cock and balls like that’s enough for right now. He looks satisfied, eager, almost; his fingers on Shuuzou’s cock make Shuuzou want to squeeze his eyes shut and just feel but also to keep watching.  
  
“You can keep your hand in my hair,” says Tatsuya. “If you want to.”  
  
(Shuuzou’s imagined Tatsuya’s mouth around his cock before, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.)


	53. murahimu, taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual references, cannibalism of the living, self-cannibalism, gore

“You taste so good, Muro-chin,” Atsushi had said, first when they had been kissing and he’d licked the inside of Tatsuya’s mouth, next when he’d been eating him out, and then when Tatsuya had come on his face.  
  
He hadn’t quite realized Atsushi had meant it like this; he’d thought Atsushi preferred sweets and snacks to fresh meat. But preferences are not absolute, and, well, presented in this manner it is a bit closer to a snack. A bit at a time, small pieces of flesh. That’s how it had started, but that’s not how it’s going to end; Tatsuya knows this much already.  
  
But what a way to end, like a fabled snake gorging itself on its own tail, like a legend. That’s a dark thought, but it’s hard to think lightly when half the muscles in your right calf have been cut out, reserves of flesh in your abdomen, the rough scars left behind—at least Atsushi’s studied anatomy and taken it to heart (when will it be Tatsuya’s heart? Will Atsushi cut such a small piece that Tatsuya will be able to eat some before the rest gives out?), even if Tatsuya can’t quite walk anymore.  
  
He’s depended on Atsushi for more, after all.   
  
Sometimes the taste of him, the meat of his body, lingers on Atsushi’s lips, and it’s Tatsuya’s turn to tell him he tastes good while he licks the inside of Atsushi’s cheeks, and Atsushi grumbles and calls him vain but Atsushi’s the one who cuts off a bigger piece of him next time and feeds some of the tender meat to him, pushes it between his lips. Tatsuya still has his hands (most of his fingers, anyway); he can still pluck the meat from the plate and place it in his own mouth; he still feeds himself to Atsushi sometimes, after all. But it’s nice to be fed; it’s nice to be taken care of as they take the slow descent to the depths of hell together. It’s a hell they can share, after all, something that belongs to the two of them together, and the two of them alone. Some people could say it’s lonely or boring, but they haven’t been here, the fascination spun between them like spiderwebs. The intimacy of having one’s flesh severed from skin and bone, licking the blood of one’s own leg off from where it coats someone else’s fingers completely, trusting them. Nodding, and refusing to scream with the pain.


	54. kagahimu, come on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, bukkake

“I want to come on your face,” Tatsuya says, tilting Taiga’s head up to kiss him, and Taiga’s pretty sure Tatsuya can taste the salty precome on his mouth, especially when he licks the inside of Taiga’s lips.  
  
How Tatsuya can keep it together when he’s this close to coming, how he can lift Taiga off his dick, how he can trace the outside of Taiga’s mouth with a flushed face and erratic breathing, how he can deny himself longer—but Tatsuya’s always been a bit of a masochist, always good at denying himself, so of course that transfers to sex. But Taiga wants to get his mouth back around Tatsuya’s cock, swallow it again and have Tatsuya call him a good boy; just the thought of it makes him moan.  
  
“Would you like that?” says Tatsuya.  
  
Taiga nods; as alluring as the prospect of taking Tatsuya to completion in his mouth is, the idea of Tatsuya marking him like this—temporary, sure, but with come sticking to his face, in his hair, impossible to get out, maybe dripping down onto his shirt—makes him buck his hips into the empty air in front of him.   
  
“Good boy,” Tatsuya says, giving him another kiss. “Now can you hold still for me?”  
  
Taiga is pathetically eager, but he’s always been pathetic for Tatsuya; he’s always wanted to do anything, been willing to bend over backward, and this isn’t even that. He’s just waiting, watching as Tatsuya pumps his own cock, and fuck that’s beautiful, slim fingers around it, and he undoes his fly halfway and reaches for his own cock, hard and throbbing into his hand. He keeps his eyes opening, watching as Tatsuya nears, and then he comes, right on Taiga’s face.  
  
He coughs as some of it lands in his open mouth; his eyes are closed and the come that sticks to his eyelids is heavier than he’d expected, not like water hitting his face in the shower. He blinks; he can feel it on his face, hot and sticky and, well, there’s something really nice about it. Something that pushes him closer to the edge, and his cock’s not out of his underwear but fuck it. They’re going to have to change anyway.   
  
“Let me,” says Tatsuya, and Taiga shakes his head.   
  
He comes, all over his hand and all over the inside of his boxers; he’s already regretting it when he takes his hand out of his pants; the come doesn’t feel anywhere near good on there.  
  
“Look at you,” Tatsuya murmurs, pulling him back in for a kiss.


	55. murahimu, laboratory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> human experimentation, cyborgs, mild body horror

Murasakibara’s been in the lab for five months when he meets Himuro. He’s used to it by now, even if he’s not happy about it, even if he thinks about escaping, tricking the guards into thinking they’ve placated him with pieces of candy laced with sedatives, that he only pops into his mouth briefly (not that there’s enough to knock him out or even make him drowsy in one of them, but just in case). They say his body is responding well to the treatment; they mark down good things on his charts, perceived docility and accelerated growth; they tell him they’re sorry when he talks about how his knees hurt he’s growing so fast but they don’t do anything to help. They don’t stop giving him hormones, and they don’t start giving him something for the pain itself.   
  
He’s one of the subjects who’s the closest to quote-unquote normal, even if he’s taller than two meters now and easily picked out in a crowd (he was always tall for his age, taller than the average adult man at the age of twelve, but this is new, a third of a meter in only a few months or maybe more than that). At first, he thinks Himuro’s like him, but that only lasts a few seconds until it’s obvious he’s not.  
  
There is the clicking and whirring, the wires poking out from under the curtain of hair, impossible to see most of the time but Murasakibara’s good at observing things. It’s easy to plug that iinto the equation, the half of Himuro’s face he’s not allowed to see. Robotic, or maybe a bomb of some sort. Spliced together. drilled into him, wired into his neurons. Sometimes Himuro’s speech stutters halfway through a word; he recovers and pretends it never happens and Murasakibara wonders if he’s always had that kind of impediment or if it’s the electricity.   
  
They have sex, but never all the way, clothes all off, bodies all bared; Murasakibara isn’t allowed to reach under Himuro’s belt in the back or to touch the mechanical side of Himuro’s face under his hair even when Himuro’s giving him head (or even look at it, except when Himuro’s deeply asleep and Murasakibara pushes it aside, cold hollow metal and a smudged camera lens for an eye, interesting but not as hideous as Himuro seems to think it is—or maybe he’s just trying to hide that he’s different, but when no one here is ordinary that plan seems even shakier than it could be).   
  
It’s when they’re asleep together on Murasakibara’s bed, the ever-present video camera light the only thing that’s on, when a loud tone sounds from Himuro’s forehead and he jolts awake.   
  
“Plug me in. I’ll—I’ll—plug me in.”  
  
He motions to his back, fumbles with his belt buckle. Right above his ass, under his spine. is a plastic hatchway; Murasakibara opens it and Himuro hisses at the sensation (in pain, Murasakibara thinks, pressing a quick apology kiss to the flesh of Himuro’s forehead). Underneath is a plug, and Murasakibara pulls it out; it doesn’t come very far but far enough to reach to the side of the bed and into the outlet. The tone stops. Himuro’s shoulders are still shaking.


	56. murahimu, frankenstein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> body horror, sexual content, mild gore

No one is perfect. Even if he hadn’t heard it from the mouths of his parents, Alex, everyone he knows, Tatsuya still would have figured it out. He certainly isn’t, flawed and scarred and fucked up, but everyone around him has their own blemishes. Oversight, arrogance, impulsiveness (though he can't say he doesn’t have those as well). No one is perfect, and no one is perfect for him (to be both would be a paradox; Tatsuya does not deserve perfect and he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he did). But that doesn’t mean no one ever will be.   
  
The perfect boyfriend starts out as a set, a list of parts and traits and measurement. Large, large enough to be good at basketball, a wingspan longer than Tatsuya’s body and legs that go for miles. Strong organs, filling up the cavity of his chest. Bones, but those can be made, manufactured out of metal and light stone, stainless steel that won’t rust under mountains of blood. A heart. Hands, long fingers, a face with eyes that see him as he is, not how the perfect boyfriend wishes to see him. Himself, not an ideal—something that may perhaps come back to bite him but, well. The perfect boyfriend won’t make him feel weird about it.  
  
He cuts the legs off a man in the morgue, bound for cremation; no one seems to notice that there will be fewer ashes than a man of his size should demand. The arms come from a well-muscled convict on the run, about to be caught by the police when Tatsuya covers for him. A small price to pay, even if there are scars on his knuckles; they still work perfectly fine. Perfect Boyfriend needs a name, too, stolen from somewhere; he chooses the family registry of a man living alone, no parents and no siblings to miss him, a blip in his taxes and an unexplained change of residence perhaps, but no one will miss this Murasakibara Atsushi.   
  
(Amused with the name choice and feeling rather clever, Tatsuya finds purple hair and dyes the stolen irises violet himself, working over the laboratory table.) Atsushi is coming together nicely, his face fitting the mask of skin, the best organs harvested from healthy specimens fitting neatly into his ribcage. Lungs, heart, kidneys, liver, intestines, stomach, all the way up through the trachea, the skin of the trunk stripped off a different body, stitched to the limbs. A plump ass stuffed with muscle and fat. Tatsuya has to suck a lot of dicks before he finds one he likes well enough to consider for Atsushi, and, well, he does feel a little bit of regret in cutting it off of Kiyoshi and denying anyone else the pleasure of sucking it. Still, sacrifices have to be made.


	57. murahimu, cecaelia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cecaelia/human sex
> 
> (cecaelia is like ursula from the little mermaid; i had to look that up for this prompt and im glad i know it now)

Just because their bodies work a little differently doesn’t mean they can’t figure out how to make each other feel good. Just because Tatsuya has two legs and Atsushi has eight, and just because Atsushi prefers to slither around underwater (Even though he can breathe above) doesn’t mean they can’t make it work, even if they both have to compromise. Tatsuya agrees to pay a little bit extra rent per month just so he gets a big bathtub in an apartment by the ocean, close enough that Atsushi can slither across the boardwalk and then up the steps to where Tatsuya’s drawn a bath of saltwater. Atsushi sighs into the tub, always spilling water over the edge, but the downstairs neighbors haven’t complained about leaks yet so they’re all good as far as Tatsuya’s concerned.   
  
They’ve tried lots of things, Atsushi’s tentacles wrapping around Tatsuya’s cock, dragging up his thighs, two of them in his ass at once, the rest holding his legs apart (that’s always fun). Still, that kind of pleasure is always what happens in porn, and there have to be other things unique to Atsushi’s biology that Tatsuya’s determined to find. Like running his fingers up the bottoms of Atsushi’s tentacles, feeling all the bumps and ridges, the parts of Atsushi’s body most analogous to human thighs, the eight-pointed star where the tentacles meet, thick and sensitive flesh. Touching it makes Atsushi moan, tilting his head back and exposing his neck, fingers curling around the rim of the tub. Touching further up, the hole in the center—Tatsuya’s pretty sure he knows what that maps to, especially when he squeezes a finger inside, and then two, and then three, until Atsushi’s whole body is shuddering around him. Getting his cock in there shouldn’t be too difficult, provided Atsushi spreads his tentacles—though will all of them ink at once? Tatsuya doesn’t have much of a problem with having it all over him, staining his skin.   
  
He ghosts his fingers over the area around it.   
  
“Is it okay if I put my cock inside you?”  
  
Atsushi willingly spreads his tentacles, wrapping them around Tatsuya’s body and pulling him in, eagerly, like he wouldn’t let Tatsuya get away even if he wanted to. Tatsuya smiles, brushing a kiss across Atsushi’s lips.   
  
“Can’t wait to fuck you.”  
  
“So do it,” says Atsushi, and, well.  
  
Tatsuya can’t possibly refuse an invitation as nice as that.


	58. murahimu, oviposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> human/alien sex, graphic oviposition
> 
> fyi tatsuya's trans in this

“You’re really ready,” Atsushi says, leaning down to kiss Tatsuya’s mouth.  
  
“I’m really ready,” Tatsuya says, spreading his legs again.   
  
Atsushi thinks about going down on him again, eating him out—human biology is so strange and wonderful, the way Tatsuya reacts, trembling and moaning and coming undone under Atsushi’s tongue, the warm fluid that comes out of him, thick when Atsushi licks it off. But he also thinks about the growing tightness in his own belly, the ovipositor that’s already two thirds of the way protruding, the way Tatsuya’s looking at it hungrily (Atsushi wonders if he should perhaps reiterate that oral stimulation doesn’t work on him like this, but, well). It’s beginning to thicken, stiffen, almost uncomfortable at first with the swelling, the best shape and size with which to deposit eggs. Atsushi leans down to kiss Tatsuya’s mouth again; he’s young and fertile and ready all over for this.   
  
Atsushi’s ovipositor brushes over Tatsuya’s clit; it’s still hot and wet and nothing like being surrounded and sheathed but, oh. Tatsuya jerks his hips forward, trying to chase it; Atsushi’s almost all the way there.  
  
“Please, Atsushi.”  
  
He has no patience, but Atsushi’s running pretty short on that, too. Atsushi positions himself, one hand on each of Tatsuya’s knees, keeping his legs spread. He’s never done this before but Tatsuya, he realizes, has, as he maneuvers his body, as Atsushi tries to fit himself inside. Once he’s in, though, he can slide the rest of the way, slowly filling Tatsuya. He’s hot and wet and tight all the way around Atsushi, clenching around him again and again. All it takes is a few thrusts from Atsushi and then he can feel the eggs begin to slide out of him. He can tell when Tatsuya begins to feel it, too.   
  
“Oh!”   
  
He looks startled at the feeling; Atsushi leans over to kiss him again. “Does it feel good?”  
  
Tatsuya pauses, breathes. More eggs begin to spill out of Atsushi; he feels them coming down his shaft in a long, sticky string.   
  
“Yeah. It feels really good, Atsushi.”  
  
“Okay,” says Atsushi. “There’s gonna be more.”  
  
Tatsuya’s still jerking his hips in motion to meet Atsushi’s; Atsushi gets the message pretty quickly. He reaches between Tatsuya’s legs to rub his clit again with two fingers, watch his eye flutter shut and that gorgeous face flush all over again. Shit, if Atsushi’s not careful he’s going to lay all the eggs in his body right now into Tatsuya.


	59. murahimu, kagune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> body horror, cannibalism
> 
> tokyo ghoul au

The first time he sees it, Murasakibara happens to think that Himuro’s kagune is kind of pathetic. It makes sense that he’s so good with weapons, that he’s so hesitant to use it, the extension of his arm that is perhaps less useful than the usual flesh one. So it went that way, rather than the kagune being an even bigger weapon than the one he’d carried, beating the hunters at their own game.   
  
Murasakibara’s kagune is big and strong enough for both of them, not that he’s inclined to cover for anyone too weak to make it at full strength on their own. Though it’s not like Himuro really needs it, and when he intersperses his kagune with weapons, well, it’s close to effective. Well-trained, that’s all, really, and Murasakibara’s not impressed. Just a little surprised that Himuro would clearly spend all that time training and honing something that useless. Survival instincts are strange things, but isn’t it supposed to be only the strong who survive?   
  
“You’re weird,” Murasakibara says, dumping seven sugar cubes into his coffee.  
  
“I’m on break,” says Himuro, taking no sugar for himself.  
  
He abstains; he cuts himself off, makes himself weak, like he feels guilty, like the humans have beaten that shit into him. Murasakibara feels weird, like he wants to tear apart the faceless, voiceless humans who had done that to Himuro, rip off their limbs and eat them while their hearts still beat and their eyes still see, let them know the true meaning of fear, pay them back with the interest they’ve earned for what they’ve done to Himuro. Except, isn’t it Himuro’s own fault that he hadn’t taken a stand? That he hadn’t torn them apart himself, that he’d let his feelings rot around him like a less-appealing human corpse, probably the kind he eats the most? Disgusting. Murasakibara still wants to crush them all.  
  
“You’re quiet,” Himuro says, charming customer-facing smile on his face like he knows exactly what’s happening in Murasakibara’s mind.   
  
Murasakibara shrugs. The coffee isn’t sweet enough yet; he adds another sugar cube. He thinks about the body, the human who had died in order to become that. Like the humans all around them, stupid, unaware of the ghouls in their midst. Murasakibara thinks about the sound of tearing flesh, the taste of fresh blood. It’s better than this, but this is pretty good, even if Himuro’s still looking at him like that.


	60. aokise, mile high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> irresponsible sexual content, airplanes

“This is safe,” says Aomine. “We’re not going to like, crash land in a farm and burn up along with some random person’s crops.”  
  
“No,” says Kise, buttoning the cuff of his jacket, standing up straight so the full effect of his pilot’s uniform is quite evident and, wow; Aomine’s mouth goes dry and any cockpit jokes he was about to make fall out of his brain and through the floor of the plane. “Autopilot is safe, and so is my copilot.”  
  
“She’s not going to—”  
  
“No,” says Kise. “She’ll be taking a break, and if anything happens we'll know and she’ll let us know.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Aomine breathes out; he’s always wanted to join the mile-high club and had always assumed he and Kise would get around to it at some point, considering Kise's a pilot and one of the few perks of that job (as far as Aomine’s concerned) is access to really good flights. He’d just been thinking more traditionally, in the back inside a cramped bathroom with Kise holding him against the door and feeling it rattle as they’d soared through the air en route to some exotic destination. Not in the cockpit, with Kise in full pilot regalia, on a regular domestic flight out to Sapporo.   
  
Not that this is a bad idea at all. He just has to get through takeoff first, until they get to cruising altitude, which is actually not that long, even with the dirty looks Kise’s copilot keeps giving him and the way she mutters under her breath about how they’re going to end up dead or fired or both (but what’s life without a little bit of risk, getting caught and facing consequences, as long as that part doesn’t actually happen).   
  
Kise looks fine as hell in the pilot’s seat; he switches the headset off mute and grins, mouthing words at Aomine to make him give them away and Aomine’s going to accept that challenge (God, he loves when Kise is loud, especially the idea that they shouldn’t). And then Kise makes Aomine watch while he strokes himself hard; Aomine’s got to bite back a couple of moans because holy fuck.  
  
Aomine could have used something to suck on during takeoff, when his ears were popping with pressure, but right now this is awfully nice, too, Kise’s legs spread and Kise’s cock in his mouth right now. Who knows, they might have a little turbulence and then Aomine’s going to be extra glad.


	61. murahimu, porn stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> porn industry, sexual content

Sex is a job, and most of the time it feels like a chore now. Atsushi feels quite validated when he makes Tatsuya moan and it’s not completely for show, when he can suck his cock or hit that spot inside of him where his toes curl, still, but it’s also just work, a paycheck, tiring when they have to do the same shot several times. He feels gross and overstimulated and understimulated at the same time, and he can’t wait to get back to the trailer after he discards yet another condom and put on some actual clothes and take enough of a shower so he doesn’t smell totally like sex.  
  
Tatsuya’s had a rough go of it, some solo stuff earlier and now this, working all day; he’s pretending to be alert but falling asleep next to Atsushi on the bus, leaning against Atsushi’s side. He always looks pretty, but when he’s tired and when Atsushi knows he’s just made him come several times, there’s something a little bit satisfying about the pink that clings to his cheeks. They have tomorrow off, at least; they can sleep in and it doesn’t feel like as much of a waste when they fall right into bed.  
  
Atsushi feels Tatsuya slip out of bed in the morning, and soon after he smells eggs frying on the stove and coffee percolating, and hopes fervently that Tatsuya will bring him breakfast in bed. He doesn’t; Atsushi’s too used to the fiction he’s acting out, he supposes, but he heads to the kitchen with complaints ready.   
  
“You should have brought me breakfast.”  
  
“I already made it for you,” says Tatsuya.   
  
He looks tired; he’s the one who should just go back to bed. Atsushi stabs at his eggs with the fork until the yolk spills out; they’re out of bread so he can’t make toast and Atsushi sighs, mopping up the yolk as best he can with the white, and then his fingers, tapping the canister of sugar to get it into his coffee.   
  
Tatsuya looks fresh, sexy like this, the way his posture relaxes when the cameras aren’t on him, stubble on his cheeks. It’s been a while since they’ve had sex on their own, but it’s always different from work. Maybe later, though, Atsushi decides; right now he’s still too tired. Maybe after they’ve had two cups of coffee each and they’re sure they won’t fall back asleep the moment they hit the bed.


	62. murahimu, slime monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> human/slime monster, sexual content, graphic slime stuff
> 
> br7

There’s no accurate way to describe Atsushi by comparing him to a normal creature. A snail, a slug, some kind of underwater creature might be an approximation, but it’s still an approximation and not something exactly analogous to the way Atsushi oozes slime, to the way it covers him. There’s an animated movie, with a half bird half man who oozes slime and feathers as he walks, and perhaps that’s close enough, but that had been more like tar, hadn’t it? And that’s only visual; this is more about the way it feels.  
  
The first time Tatsuya had woken up covered in Atsushi’s slime, it had felt odd. Odd but not unpleasant, drenching his pajamas but still leaving him warm, sticky but not like everything will stick to him. Like a one-sided adhesive, but not irritating, like paste with an outer shell that’s tried but not with the stale smell and the sensation that you’re in a children’s crafts class. Perhaps it’s incomparable, but that’s just as well.   
  
From what Tatsuya gathers, the slime doesn’t mean anything in particular, some long ago biological holdout, but that doesn’t mean they can’t appropriate its use. Long nights when they’re cold and wrapped in blankets, the slime insulates them; in a few hours Atsushi’s body makes enough slime to cover both of them and keep them in a slime bubble that’s just for the two of them, skin touching skin inside the thick fluid. Taiga says it looks overly sexual, but it’s not like that all the time—it certainly can be, dripping onto Tatsuya’s chest, forming as beads at the tip of Atsushi’s cock when Tatsuya sucks it, swallowing it down with Atsushi’s come. It doesn’t really taste like anything, though it has the appearance of maple syrup. It’s not nearly as sweet, though perhaps Tatsuya makes that connection from the sheer amount of sugar Atsushi consumes. He does need to get the calories with which to make the slime from somewhere, though, and Tatsuya’s thought process toward this all has veered away from the scientific.  
  
It keeps Atsushi’s skin soft and smooth, though, slippery when it’s covered, and it’s nice to feel it against his skin, almost like he’s being marked, though it disappears when washed with water. Impermanent, only here, but here they can be as possessive as they want with each other. It goes both ways, after all, even though they know they’ve got nothing to worry about.


	63. murahimu, inside out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> body horror, sexual content

It starts when he’s eating Tatsuya out, like he’s done before, his tongue disappearing into the sweet warmth of Tatsuya’s ass, pressing against his rim until his lips are there to meet it. Tatsuya’s a wriggling, sweaty mess above him, breathing and clenching around him in a way that makes Atsushi kind of wish he’d just hold still and finish (it’s nice to draw it out, but if he’d just hold in place it could be so much easier).   
  
It’s like Atsushi’s reaching deeper, deeper; it’s like his tongue catches on the end of something and it feels weird, different, like he should pull his tongue out. It’s just that Tatsuya’s insides come with him, the other side of Tatsuya’s skin, the blood vessels and organs flipping on some unseen axis (axes?) around his bones.   
  
Atsushi’s heard people called just as beautiful on the inside as on the outside before. He just hadn’t thought about the literal meaning, the other side of the skin. He hadn’t considered that the fluttering of all of Tatsuya’s interconnected systems, the veins and nerves connecting the pieces of him like subway tunnels, a surface in reverse, could be this gorgeous. But they are, and, well, Atsushi’s just been eating Tatsuya out from the other side, but from this side, licking off all the flavored lube that’s still stuck to him, scraping the tips of his teeth against Tatsuya’s heart, kissing his neck from the veins outward.   
  
“Can you feel this?” Atsushi says, brushing his fingertips over the insides of the insides of Tatsuya’s thighs.  
  
“Not really,” says Tatsuya. “Keep eating me out.”  
  
“How are you going to come like this?” Atsushi says.  
  
Tatsuya shrugs, the motion kind of jerky like he’s not used to moving his body like this, and it makes no sense to him but he’s not going to worry. His dick better not get stuck inside out, but Atsushi’s not the one who’d decided they’d go ahead with this.  
  
It turns out that he reverses again in the reverse kind of way, when Atsushi licks his ass inside out and clean from the top down, when he’s trying to lick around the inside of the entrance, when he slides his tongue out again and then Tatsuya slowly turns back right. He’d still been beautiful the other way around, but like this it just makes more sense. Maybe they’ll stick to blow jobs for now.


	64. murahimu, big boys cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content
> 
> br7

Atsushi doesn’t know that much English, but he knows the implications of the words written on the cake. I HEART BIG BOYS, indeed. Atsushi’s been told he’s a big boy for a long time, and though it’s true, when people say it like that it’s sure as hell not in this context. But, considering that this is Tatsuya, this is definitely in that context, even though they’re not dating or really sexually involved. But if this is Tatsuya’s way of propositioning sex after years of subtle hints that neither of them wants to do anything about (or, well, regardless of wanting, neither of them had actually taken that push over the edge) it’s his proposition to take, isn’t it?  
  
Atsushi looks over at Tatsuya, and Tatsuya smiles at him. Like he doesn’t know Atsushi knows, except he totally does. Atsushi raises an eyebrow and then jerks his head at the cake.  
  
“Want a slice?”   
  
“You’re not subtle at all,” says Atsushi. “But yeah, okay.”  
  
“Subtlety wasn’t working,” says Tatsuya with a shrug, slicing off a piece of the cake, right before the beginning of the lettering, and placing it on a plate.  
  
It’s a little too small for him, but if dessert his his dick in Tatsuya’s mouth, he’ll take it. The cake will still be here later, and the icing is a little bit too sweet even for him, overwhelming the lightness of the cake itself. He still licks it off the fork and looks at Tatsuya.  
  
“You having any?”  
  
Tatsuya just looks at him, and Atsushi sighs, leaning over to kiss him, lick the icing stuck to his tongue all over the inside of Tatsuya’s mouth. There’s a smear of the bright icing on the edge of his lip when Atsushi pulls away, to his satisfaction. It looks good on him, though Atsushi supposes everything does to an infuriating degree, but if this is for his personal pleasure he’ll take it. Still, he’s imagined what else would look really good, Tatsuya’s mouth around his cock, swallowing him whole, backing up the claim he’d placed on the cake. Atsushi unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, and for a few seconds Tatsuya just looks at it. It’s a little flattering, to be honest; in Atsushi’s mind there’s nothing all that special about it but when Tatsuya licks up the shaft, kisses the tip, takes all of it in like he’s got no gag reflex, holy shit. They should have been doing this two years ago, but they can make up for lost time.


	65. murahimu, killers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murder, mild gore/violence
> 
> br7

Perhaps it’s arrogant to attribute to one’s self what can be attributed to the world as a whole, a collective of ideas just waiting to be found, poking their heads up out of the sewers, uttered by those who don’t have time to regret them before the words turn into a knife in their throats, a pattern of bullet holes in their guts. The world finds new and exciting ways to kill a man every day, but Tatsuya and Atsushi are agents of the world, the ones whose hands decide. Just, unjust, at this juncture those words are only words. The thing that speaks is the hand that smothers, the hand that squeezes around the throat.  
  
Atsushi leaves fingerprints, bruising on the body before it stiffens, dark like ink stains.   
  
“That’s an aesthetic,” Tatsuya says, giving a pointed gaze.  
  
Atsushi shrugs, like this is nothing new to him, even though every day is different from the next. A different grip, a different weapon, a different method. A different time of day, like now when they’re standing in the back alley with the rush of people on lunch breaks, borrowed time before punching a clock, none to duck into the alley when they can smoke and yell on their cell phones on the streets.  
  
They could dismember the body, hide the different parts in different places. It’s too many, though, and they’ve done that before; it’s easier to stuff it into the large suitcase for now and take that with them. Deliver the proof, take the money, slice up the body themselves, just as it begins to decompose. The smell of rotting flesh all around them, all its familiar charms.  
  
“You’re thinking about something gross again, Muro-chin.”  
  
Tatsuya smiles up at Atsushi and unzips the suitcase. They place the body inside, folding it up; with no pain receptors they can tear at muscle and bone and force it to fit, limbs splayed and bent at wrong angles, interesting to look at. They can’t get too caught up in it, Tatsuya supposes; still, though.   
  
“Is this fun for you?” Atsushi says.  
  
“Not really,” says Tatsuya.  
  
Atsushi pulls the suitcase behind him but waits for Tatsuya to match his stride as best he can. The street ahead of the alley’s almost cleared up; Atsushi brushes his lips across Tatsuya’s. This job isn’t over yet, but they’ll get it done, and then they’ll have each other and infinite tomorrows after that, new ways to kill and maim as they see fit.


	66. aokise, dirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dirty talk, slut shaming, roleplay, sexual content
> 
> br7

Daiki’s relaxed on the bed by the time Ryouta comes in, tentative look before he smiles, that usual confident look, an undertone of something else that grips Daiki from the inside and now isn’t the time to appreciate that but damn, Ryouta’s a good actor. He slips into bed and kisses Daiki on the cheek, his hand already roaming below the sheets and fiddling with the elastic on Daiki’s sweatpants.  
  
“You smell like sex, Ryouta,” says Daiki. “Like someone else’s jizz. How many guys have you had tonight?”  
  
He sniffs Ryouta’s hair again; he smells like aftershave and the fast food bag that had ripped in his backpack that he pretends not to eat for his modeling diet. Good, usual, but it grounds Daiki in reality, that this is just role play, that Ryouta wouldn’t cheat like that.   
  
“You’re my one and only,” Ryouta purrs, cruelty edging into his voice. “They don’t mean a thing to me.”  
  
“I’ll make sure of that,” says Daiki. “Come on, blow me. Choke on my cock while you tell me how only I can fill you up, how you want my come to wash away everyone else’s. How good it tastes.”  
  
Ryouta’s rapidly moving down, yanking Daiki’s sweatpants and boxers off, pushing aside the covers and looking at Daiki’s cock like he’s hungry and it’s a damn fine meal for him.   
  
“It’s only your cock, Daiki, you know that…every time I’m with someone else I’m always thinking about you, how their cock isn’t as good as yours.”  
  
“Damn right,” says Daiki. “Ah, fuck.”  
  
Ryouta swallows him down, one take, warm and wet mouth, hollowing his cheeks to make it almost tight around Daiki and no matter how many times they do this, no matter how they build up the context (or don’t) it’s always going to feel so goddamn good, the tip of Ryouta’s tongue brushing up and down the shaft, pressing against the head, the softness of his lips and the way they look with his cock disappearing into them.   
  
“I’m the only one who fills your mouth like this, right? You like my cock in to the back of your throat, don’t you, slut?”  
  
Ryouta sucks on him harder and Daiki closes his eyes, lifting his hips, trying to push his cock in farther than it can; Ryouta sputters and nearly gags and there’s nothing that makes him feel quite as good or as powerful as this.


	67. murahimu, cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sentient cheese, human/cheese man sex
> 
> br7

There is a cheese mold in the shape of a man that they do not use. There is never enough milk in one day; there are small cheeses, different varieties to make, not enough to indulge even the interest or amusement that would come with filling it, until one year all their cows that calve bear heifers, and the year after that when they think of expanding the barn, becoming a full-fledged dairy. They have so much milk they almost have to use the man mold, though none of Atsushi’s siblings want to touch it, like it’s cursed.  
  
Atsushi pours the milk in by the bucketful, sets the mold, and waits.   
  
There is a waning half-moon the night Atsushi begins to feel restless, when he tosses and turns in his bed, nowhere near sleep. He sits up, on the edge, running his hands through his hair and pulling it away from his face. He ought to check the barn, he thinks, though there are no sounds, no predators in the henhouse, no intruders getting at the cattle. The barn door creaks on its hinges as Atsushi opens it, and in the low beam of his flashlight he sees a man. Skin pale, soft-looking, like cheese. The shape of the mold, only not quite, glowing naked and standing in the hay. He turns around; he has a face, shaped delicately where the mold would have left it flat, an eye that fixes itself on Atsushi.   
  
“Hello.”  
  
“You are a cheese,” says Atsushi, and the man nods.  
  
He smells ripe, rich, like he would taste delicious in Atsushi’s throat—they were going to carve him up and sell him; they still will. Cheeses aren’t alive, even this one, as animated as he is; he is still food for someone. Still, the thought of it, flesh of his thigh that gives way to Atsushi’s mouth, crumbling on Atsushi’s tongue, yes. Atsushi wants to eat him, but the shape of him is so perfect, illuminated like this, that Atsushi wants to fuck him, too. He wants a dick made of cheese in the back of his throat; he wants to bury his face between warm cheese thighs.   
  
The cheese man wants it, too; he steps forward and licks his lips. Atsushi kneels before him and takes him all the way in.  
  
When he comes, it’s fresh cream, somehow uncurdled and pure; it dribbles down Atsushi’s mouth and chin, too rich to swallow all at once. His face and hair are smeared with cheese, but the cheese man still looks intact, as much as he had before, and very satisfied with Atsushi’s appearance.


	68. aocest part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> selfcest, sexual content, underage

The first thing Aomine thinks when he sees his other self is that holy shit, there’s another him. That seems to be his other self’s first thought, too, if Aomine can read his face, and why wouldn’t he be able to? Why wouldn’t that be his other self’s first thought if they’re the same person anyway? That’s too much of a mindfuck to think about, so Aomine doesn’t and focuses on the most obvious thing, which is that he’d just gotten himself comfortable for a jerkoff session and another version of himself had strolled in the door, and while Aomine would have preferred Mai-chan, he’s pretty sure the best thing about meeting himself in this situation is that he’s the person who’s going to know what he likes best.   
  
“Hey,” says Aomine, gesturing to the spot next to him on the bed, the bottle of lube next to him.   
  
He shuts his laptop and shoves it under the bed for now; they could theoretically get off to porn together but that would be a wasted opportunity. Aomine’s always wondered what it would be like to be fucked really good, by someone’s real cock, and if there’s anyone he trusts with that it’s himself.   
  
“Hey,” Aomine says, rolling down the top of his sweatpants. “Want to fuck me?”  
  
“Yeah,” says his other self. “Hell, yeah.”  
  
He wastes no time in rolling on top of Aomine, grinding their hips together and playing with Aomine’s nipples until Aomine whines and reaches for his cock. His other self sighs, but undoes his own pants (still in his uniform; he looks damn good like that) and takes both of their cocks in his hand. The friction feels good, but Aomine wants more; he’s squirming on the bed and bucking his hips, and then his other self leans down to kiss him and he stills.  
  
“Be a little patient.”  
  
“Are you going to fuck me or not?”  
  
“We’ll get there; don’t worry.”  
  
With that, his other self pops the lid off the lube and spreads it on his fingers; he’s already hard but he strokes himself once or twice, not enough to coat his cock completely but enough to get Aomine to moan. God, this is all too much—it’s even more when his other self finally puts in one finger, two, three, stretching him out better than Aomine could working himself, and when he puts his cock in, fuck, Aomine’s pretty sure he won’t be able to go back to dildos after this.   
  
“You’re doing great,” his other self says, kissing him again, and instead of feeling weird it feels absolutely right.  
  
Aomine comes too quickly, but his other self’s not too far behind, and they lie there together in a sticky, sweaty mess until Aomine falls asleep. When he wakes up, his other self is gone and he’s been cleaned off, but the feeling of satisfaction, warm in his belly, remains.


	69. aokuro, boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dom/sub, sexual content, brief violent imagery, see end notes for spoiler
> 
> br7

“Who’s in charge?” says Tetsu.  
  
His face is lit up by the streetlights, city lights, zooming past as they head through the half-empty streets at twice the speed limit. No one’s crossing the street anyway.   
  
“You are, Tetsu,” says Daiki, swerving right and slamming on the horn and the brakes to avoid a bicyclist, who flips him off and looks about ready to dismount.  
  
“Good boy, Daiki-kun,” says Tetsu. “You’re learning.”  
  
He asks a few times a week, down from a few times a day, when he’d been so insistent that Daiki learn it. But Daiki can be trained; he’s not a dog but he can learn this. To trust Tetsu, openly without questioning everything. To take Tetsu’s judgement as word, to place all his faith in Tetsu’s capability. It’s a little bit of a reversal of the old light and shadow way things once were; he’s not the one dictated by the angles of the light, turning every which way under Tetsu’s trigger-happy thumb.   
  
It’s kind of liberating, in a weird way, to just hand over the controls to Tetsu, to drive the car but feel Tetsu pulling on his strings, Tetsu’s hand on his thigh, Tetsu’s voice whispering in his ear, thick and rough like saltwater.   
  
“I want you to crash the car into a wall," Tetsu says.  
  
Daiki swallows. Tetsu’s always so transparent, so obvious about what he wants; there’s not much room for misinterpreting his statements, twisting them around to something more happy or harmonious, something that sits a little better in Daiki’s stomach.  
  
“Shit,” Daiki says, because this, this outcome, the engine crumpled, light and aerodynamic, exploding against the wall, the windshield smashed, bodies—if there’s anything left of them at all.  
  
He grips the steering wheel, trying to imagine the way it would look snapped in half.  
  
“Unzip your pants,” Tetsu says at the next red light they don’t run.   
  
It’ll be easier to go out happy, to fake losing control, to really lose control when Tetsu’s sucking him off like this, easier to close his eyes and brace for impact when he’s about to come, with Tetsu’s lips soft and gentle around the base of his cock. Daiki does as he’s told, barely looks at his soft cock spilling out of his fly before the light turns and he revs up.  
  
There’s a stretch of highway with walls all up and down it; Daiki slows down and moves into the right lane, starts to jerk on the wheel as Tetsu sucks harder, faster. He’s going to make this last, a few seconds longer—he’s leaking, about to come, when he turns, slamming on the gas, closing his eyes as the the road scrapes under the wheels, and then the grass and then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> implied character death


	70. aokise, teriyaki burger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content, sex with a teriyaki burger
> 
> br7

Daiki is so hungry he’s practically drooling by the time Ryouta gets home. He could have attempted to make something (he’s getting okay at rice and frozen meals) or gotten takeout of his own, and it’s a little bit amusing to see him try and clutch at Ryouta’s Maji Burger bag, brown paper soaked with grease from the loose fries. Ryouta holds it back behind him, trying to get Daiki to snatch it.  
  
“Hey,” says Daiki. “I’m not like a dog; you can’t hold out a treat like this.”   
  
“Oh, but Daiki," Ryouta says, lowering his voice. “You know you want it.”  
  
“You make it sound like I want to fuck the burger.”  
  
“Would you, though?” says Ryouta.   
  
Daiki looks at him for a second, and Ryouta stares right back. Perhaps it had been an offhand remark, but they’ve fought over worse, to see who’s got the most chops, who can pull off the most ridiculous shit, sexual and not. They’ve dared each other to do stranger things than this, and outside of their apartment no less. But there are two teriyaki burgers in there, one they can fuck and one they can split along with the fries (or, well, there’s that noodle place downstairs that’s kind of shit but open all night). Ryouta doesn’t have to say he dares Daiki for Daiki to hold out his hands.  
  
“Okay, I’ll fuck the burger. As long as you watch, and you finish while I’m fucking it.”  
  
An arbitrary condition, but Ryouta’s up for the challenge.   
  
It’s interesting watching Daiki take out his cock, try to jerk himself off.  
  
“Use the teriyaki sauce as lube,” says Ryouta.  
  
“What the fuck, no,” says Daiki, peeling back the wrapper of the burger and sticking his semi right between the top bun and the burger.   
  
Ryouta spits into his own hand, trying to rub one out quickly. It’s not as hard as it should be (puns aside); watching Daiki with the meat patty slipping out of the buns between which his cock sits, like a piece of meat itself, is actually pretty hot. Really hot. Daiki usually finishes first, though, so Ryouta’s got to basically death grip it, but as Daiki lazily jerks his hips and the smell of teriyaki sauce fills the air, it gets even easier. Ryouta finishes into the couch cushion (it needed a trip through the wash anyway) and waits for Daiki, Even when he’s trying to catch his breath, lying back against the couch, Daiki and the burger are still pretty fucking hot.


	71. aomomo, theater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> semipublic graphic sex

Maybe it’s cheating to choose a day when Satsuki knows no one else is going to go to this particular movie in this particular theater. On the other hand, there aren't too many people who go to the movies on weekday mornings regardless of what’s playing, and especially if it’s a cheesy flick nearing the end of its run. It’s not cheating if the staff could walk in at any minute and know right away that the only two people in the theater are having sex, especially when it’s not a stealth mutual jerkoff (if that counts as sex, which at their age it probably doesn’t).   
  
It had started out with the two of them groping each other to the mindless previews, and just as Satsuki had felt Daiki was good and hard she’d kicked off her shorts and panties. She’d made him make her come, first, careful not to get any on the seat but spreading her legs as he pumped two fingers inside of her, dragging the pad of his thumb along her clit until the opening credits were ending. She’d undone his belt then, and fly, and pulled out his cock. It’s nice to just slide right down on his dick and get used to the way it fits inside her, to wiggle her hips and watch him squirm and bite back a moan.  
  
Daiki’s loud as hell sometimes, and she swallows his voice in her mouth, riding him slow at first, making him wait, making him bring her close again and then letting him speed up a little until she’s so close all he has to do is touch her again and she’s gone, riding him harder half-blissed-out, her thighs shaking as he rubs circles around her nipples. The main character still hasn’t shown up in the movie by the time he finishes inside her, and she slides off his softening cock a little bit later, and can’t help the come dripping down her bare legs.   
  
It’s spilling down the front of Daiki’s jeans a little, and it’s not all going to be held back by her panties and shorts; she probably shouldn’t sit down at least for now. It’s going to feel gross but she jerks her head up at Daiki; they can walk out now. They’ve had their fun, and they’re about to have more, smelling like sex on the train, relatively empty considering the time, but if there’s anything dripping down their legs, well, that’s going to be hard to explain. Thinking about that just makes Satsuki hot all over again.


	72. aomurakaga, penetrate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content
> 
> br7

Taiga and Daiki view this like a competition in some ways, and it’s so childish. It’s not like topping makes you actually dominant, even for the night, but if they want to roleplay that Atsushi’s not going to stop them, especially not when Taiga bottoms all the time but he’s working two fingers into Taiki now, cutting off his exaggerated groaning with short kisses to his mouth and face. It’s pretty hot when Daiki spread his legs even more, like he wants to give Taiga all the access; Atsushi’s grip tightens on his cock.   
  
“Enjoying yourself?” Taiga says.  
  
“Yeah,” says Atsushi.  
  
Taiga adds a third finger and this time he lets Daiki sigh, long and deep like it’s been pulled out of his diaphragm with pliers, like the sound waves vibrate all the way through Atsushi’s cock.   
  
*  
  
Atsushi is demanding, and they love to spoil him. It’s too easy, especially when his face is always scowling or neutral, to want to bring it up to that soft smile, the kind of happiness that hits both Daiki and Taiga pretty hard. Making him come is a pretty easy way to do that, but maybe when Daiki watches him fuck Taiga they’re all getting a little spoiled. Atsushi gets to grope his way around Taiga’s sweet ass, and then he gets to jerk his hips and dig his fingers into Taiga’s while Taiga rides him, feel Taiga clench around him and watch his face get more flushed, his eyes fluttering shut. It’s a damn fine view from below.   
  
Taiga, too, gets to have Atsushi inside of him, and Daiki’s not really insecure about their size difference (just because he’s on the smaller side of average doesn’t mean he can’t fuck Taiga pretty good himself) but there’s something about that that Taiga clearly loves, sinking down on Atsushi and being nearly overfilled. And Daiki gets to watch it all, the expression on Atsushi’s face, the way their bodies move together, so yeah, he’s pretty spoiled, too.  
  
*  
  
The way Daiki looks when he’s about to fuck Atsushi is pretty fucking hot (the way they look at each other is a huge part of what had made Taiga attracted to them both in the first place, honestly). The grin, the way he looks excited and hungry and happy all at once, and the way Atsushi looks back at him, the way he tells Daiki what to do and the way Daiki lets himself be led, moving at Atsushi’s pace.   
  
The one who comes first when they do this is Taiga, almost always, but he’s pretty sure Daiki and Atsushi like it that way.


	73. murahimu, big dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content
> 
> br7

There are a lot of crude metaphors for sucking dick out there. Lollipops, maiubou (if you want to go there), bananas, popsicles, sausages. Eggplants, but not really, but considering how big Tatsuya’s dick is—Atsushi’s not going to exaggerate. If it were like a ripe eggplant, Tatsuya would have some sort of medical issue, but as it is, it’s long and thick like dildos Atsushi’s only seen on the internet. He’s not too sure about Tatsuya fucking him someday, how it would fit inside, but he’s willing to entertain the possibility. But for now, well, Atsushi’s mouth is pretty big.   
  
He doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, and Atsushi seriously doubts that has anything to do with the amount of candy and snacks he eats (although Tatsuya had asked him after the first time, told him he was amazing and that he’d done a good job, even though Atsushi really hadn’t know what the fuck he was doing). But there’s room in his cheeks; his tongue is long; Tatsuya’s cock fits in his mouth comfortably, most of the way, and Atsushi sucks and licks on it.  
  
It’s not like food at all, where you’re trying to suck off the sugar or break off a piece; he’s trying to suck the come out if you want to look at it that way, but that’s not really it, either. It’s about the sensation of Tatsuya’s cock, swollen and stiff between his lips, the head responding to the touch of his tongue, and then he takes Tatsuya in deeper, all the ay to the back of his throat, Tatsuya pulling at his hair but not pushing him down on it deeper. Atsushi sucks in his breath, his cheeks pulling in to touch Tatsuha’s shaft, and Tatsuya gasps.  
  
“Ah—Atsushi, that’s so good. You’re doing so good.”  
  
People act like giving head is an act of service, and yeah, it is mostly to get Tatsuya off, though he’ll finish Atsushi later, quick and lazy with his hand. But he likes Tatsuya’s cock, the size of it, the way it feels in his mouth; he enjoys the act of sucking on it like it’s about to stick in his throat, the way Tatsuya’s still thrusting his hips at Atsushi’s mouth, like Atsushi could take him any deeper.   
  
Tatsuya comes with a shout, and as Atsushi swallows it all he decides the only bad thing about any or all of this is that he can’t see Tatsuya's face. A small price to pay when he stands up and looks at him, features still soft, ready to kiss the come off Atsushi’s lips.


	74. murahimu, groping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content (semi-public)

It starts with a brush of Tatsuya’s hand over Atsushi’s ass, what is most definitely not an accident but Tatsuya tries to play it off like it is. Atsushi looks at him and Tatsuya smiles, and Atsushi wonders what it would take to get Tatsuya to stick his hand in the back pocket of Atsushi’s jeans and keep it there, right on his ass with only a couple of layers of fabric between them. Maybe that’s not necessarily appropriate, but who’s going to tell them to stop?  
  
So it’s Atsushi who goes next, in a crowded movie theater, his hand around Tatsuya’s waist and then playing with the hem of Tatsuya’s sweater. That’s not enough; this movie’s boring, anyway; Atsushi lifts Tatsuya’s t-shirt underneath and presses his hand to Tatsuya’s stomach. His skin is warm, but Tatsuya gasps.  
  
“Your hand is cold.”  
  
It must be the air conditioning, but there's a pretty simple way of keeping it warm, letting it wander upward, and as the screen fades to white nearly expose them to everyone in the vicinity (though they’re all stuck to the screen like mosquitoes on a windshield).   
  
Tatsuya comes to play and plays to win, so Atsushi really should have been expecting the hand that drifts over his groin, completely not subtle, pressing against it in the middle of a party. Tatsuya’s other hand raises his glass of wine to his pips; his eye is looking at Atsushi’s face.  
  
“Shit,” Atsushi breathes. “Muro-chin.”  
  
Tatsuya smiles and presses lightly again until he’s palming Atsushi’s cock, and Atsushi does not need to get a boner right now (nor do they need to be noticed and asked to explain themselves, although maybe this is a sign that they should just go home already, not that Atsushi had needed one).  
  
If neither one of them is going to give a fuck about subtlety, Atsushi’s going to shove his hand down Tatsuya’s pants in the back of the cab, slide his thumb between Tatsuya’s ass cheeks and feel his breath hitch before he hears it, kiss the noises from his mouth. So they can’t quite have sex in the taxi; they’re close enough to home that they probably wouldn't get there before they finished. And, if all of this is any indication, Tatsuya probably just wants to do it outside—which is kind of gross, and probably where Atsushi draws the line (maybe they can touch each other a little more, though).


End file.
